


Prince of Thieves

by ElysianStars



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElysianStars/pseuds/ElysianStars
Summary: AU. Young Corrin succeeds in sneaking out of the Northern Fortress, only to stumble into even deeper trouble. Lost among beggars and criminals, he finds friendship with a boy named Zero, and they try to make each other's futures a little brighter.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I struggled with the warnings on this, because sometimes ticking a box doesn't explain all you might want to know. So if you'd like to tread carefully, please click down to the notes at the end of the chapter, where I've put a full content warning. If you'd rather not be 'spoiled' then just carry on.  
> Oh, and I'll be using the name Zero rather than Niles, because honestly, it sounds more the type of name a young criminal would like to have? I was never keen on the localisation change.

Fluttering, bright excitement as Corrin scrambled down the unpaved road, sloping away from the Northern Fortress. Hands scraped a little, knees dirty from crawling to avoid guards, heart hammering as he reached the edge of town, the houses he'd only gazed at from afar, from his tower windows fitted with black iron bars. Now they were close enough to touch, to knock on the doors if he felt bold enough. He was free to explore, and find friends who'd show him the best places to play. No waiting for Xander and Camilla to come and visit; this time he'd have an adventure all his own, to tell _them_ about.

At the back of his mind, anxiety slid through with the sting of a papercut, wondering how badly he'd be punished once he returned. But he ignored that for the moment. It was a nice day, the sun almost strong enough to warm his face, the skies almost blue rather than their usual gloomy grey. Perfect weather to be outside, rather than locked up feeling bored and lonely.

At first he hurried, keen to put extra distance between himself and the Fortress, then slowed his pace to take in the sights. People everywhere, some in smart clothes and some in shabby ones. A few brief smiles in response to his stares, a few frowns, but most ignored him. They carried boxes or baskets or walking canes, faces daubed with makeup or pimpled by ill health, all of it was fascinating in its newness. A group of loud, laughing youths in tanned waistcoats and caps. Some of Corrin's old shyness flickered to life, walking past people like that, but not enough to turn him back.

One street led to another. Shops with hand-painted signs, windows cobbled from many small panes of glass. Through them he glimpsed a tailor's dummy in a blue velvet dress, shelves of books, candles and ornaments and shoes and medicines. Amazing, all the things people needed to make and sell and buy every day, in this small town at the foot of the Northern Fortress. A poster pinned to a wall said WANTED CRIMINAL, with a grainy sketch of a face underneath, and he was proud that he could read the letters by himself. He smelled bread baking, and fragrant tea from a tiny café, and his stomach clenched in hunger. He knew better than to ask for anything, though. In the Fortress you got what you were given, and asking for more earned a cuff to the ear, from anyone besides Gunter. Still, right now he was excited enough to not mind being hungry.

He wandered on, bare feet beginning to ache. It looked like the sunlight was tiring too, skies darker than before. When he passed the gates of a large building, a storm of barking exploded from behind it, dogs leaping up and clattering the frame with heavy paws. A man rushed past, cursing for Corrin to look where he was going. Corrin shrank back, frightened, the shine starting to scrape off his adventure.

Houses in the following streets were smaller, close together. The wind carried a few cold raindrops, the reek of garbage. Corrin turned to go back, explore somewhere else, but rooftops hid the Northern Fortress' tower from view, spoiling his bearings.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A young woman, beckoning to him from a side alley. She bent, offering a hand, and he didn't hesitate to approach her. She was pretty, with dark ringlets spilling from under a headscarf, and wore an apron too. Maybe she was a maid, like the ones at the Fortress? “What're you doing, strolling by yourself? Where's your mum?”

He shook his head meekly, because of course he didn't know that. He'd never known.

She squeezed his hand. “Want to come with me? Let's get out of this rain, shall we?”

Corrin nodded, grateful, and let her lead him along thin, twisting alleys. The skies darkened further and the smell grew worse, as they passed heaps of refuse guarded by scabrous rats, walls plastered with graffiti he didn't understand but sensed menacing intent from. He tried to slow down, but she yanked his arm, forced him to move faster. But...it was okay, wasn't it? She'd spoken kindly before, so he could trust her, couldn't he?

The doorway she eventually pushed him through was dank, opening into a bar crammed with knife-scarred wooden stools and reeking of vomited-up alcohol. He was dragged through to a back room, interrupting a group of men playing cards, who swore at the girl. Her fingers dug into the skin of his wrist, and he wanted to cry, a sob bubbling in his chest. This wasn't an adventure any more.

“What's this?” one of the men asked, indicating Corrin with a wave of large, rough-looking hands. Both his cards and his nails were stained dirty yellow at the edges.

“Found him out there. Look at the nice clothes he's wearing! Must be some lost lord's son, don't you reckon?” The girl's voice was harsh and bold, with none of the sweetness she'd used before.

“What lord? Closest nobles to here are in Windmire.”

“A visitor? I dunno, but look at the clothes!”

Corrin belonged to King Garon, or so people in the Northern Fortress said. He'd never met the King himself, only had a distant impression of a big, glowering face, and was sometimes scolded with phrases like _If you don't behave, the King will hear of it and then you'll be sorry!_ It sounded like the girl wanted him to be the child of somebody important, so maybe if he told her, she'd be kind again. He tried to speak, but the words felt stuck inside him, his breaths too small and scared to push them out.

“So what d'you want us to do with him?”

“Couldn't we ransom him off or something?”

The man snorted, mockingly. “Ransom? Making deals with the bastards you want to rob, it's too messy for me. Especially if they're nobles. We'd be on crossed pikes by the end of the day.”

“Ugh! You've no ambition!” The girl stamped her feet. “Fine. Sell the clothes at least. Pass him onto someone else who's got more use for him.”

Corrin listened, comprehension creeping in horribly. Too young to understand all the dangers here, but knowing he wasn't amongst friends, and they weren't going to help him get back to the Northern Fortress. These must be the bad people, the 'WANTED CRIMINALS' that Father sent soldiers to execute, the ones big brother Xander would fight once he was older, delivering royal justice.

But Xander wasn't here now, not Father, nor Gunter or anyone else who could have made a difference. Corrin stood all alone.

 

* * *

 

Not a sliver of meat left on the chicken bone, but Zero gnawed it regardless as he waited with the rest of the gang. There was a remnant of flavour at least, a ghost of it, and the motion helped ease the pangs in his empty stomach, just slightly.

“Eyes on the prize, brat!” One of the others knocked the bone from his hand, jabbing a finger towards the stretch of road they'd staked out: cart-furrowed mud curving away into ragged black trees, branches dripping from the morning's rain.

Zero gritted his teeth silently, knowing better than to fight back. Another tiny, everyday cruelty, but give it enough days and he'd be an adult, and then the boot would be on the other foot (and the foot would be kicking someone's face in).

Several dull, damp minutes later, the thieves heard what they'd been waiting for: clattering of wheels and axles, slosh of hooves, the approach of a horse and cart. A shove on the back prompted him to move, to play his part.

He ran into the road, blocking the cart's path, arms spread wide to be seen through the gloom. A terrifying, uncertain instant where he imagined being run down – some people _would_ do that, rather than stop, if there were no witnesses – before the startled driver yanked the reins, trying to twist aside. The horse made a shrill noise of protest, cart tipping off-balance, wheels sliding helplessly through the mud. Momentum crashed them down into a roadside drainage ditch. A calm journey turned to chaos, in the space of heartbeats.

Zero watched as the rest of the gang rose from hiding, and swarmed their fallen quarry.

They garotted the driver in a brief struggle, ripped off the waterproof canvas shielding his cargo and began rifling through. One moved to quiet the panicking horse; a mangy animal, but they could sell it, if only to a butcher. Zero climbed into the cart to help sort through the goods. Bolts of cloth and unworked leather, a few casks of anonymous liquid, a box of small green apples...and something else, hidden under a blanket. A pale human foot poked out. A corpse? Another thief tore the blanket away, and no, it wasn't a corpse, just a kid keeping perfectly still, blood-red eyes flooded with fear.

“All that trouble for this?” One of the thieves growled, flinging an apple away into the road.

“Who's this kid?” Another leaned over, and the kid shrank away.

Zero felt a flicker of disdain, but there was empathy twisted around it. The kid looked a few years younger than him, so obviously wasn't going to be very brave.

“Who are you? Was that your old man?” When they didn't get an answer the thief reached forward, grabbed the kid's shirt with an impatient shake. “Either talk or we leave you to rot!”

“I don't... I don't know. No.” A shaky, whispering voice.

“Ugh. Forget it.” The other thieves jumped down from the cart, having collected whatever they wanted. Zero was about to turn away too, but suddenly the kid caught his eye, tried to speak again.

“I think... My name's Corrin.”

Zero scoffed, wanting to be seen sharing the same attitude as the older gang members. He needed them to decide he did well today. “You _think?_ Don't know for sure?”

The kid shook his head. He had off-white hair, not quite the match of Zero's, with more of a golden hue. His ears were weirdly pointed. “I can't remember. People moved me somewhere, and then...different people moved me somewhere else, and...I can't remember now.” His voice cracked, and he started to cry in the quiet, halting way of someone who wasn't expecting comfort. The same way kids at the thieves' hideout cried (as opposed to spoiled rich kids, who'd bawl loudly to make sure their nursemaids came running). Zero glanced away, discomfited.

“Sucks to be you then, doesn't it?”

“Please... Can I come with you?”

“You wanna come with the gang who just robbed and killed a guy? Really?” Then again, if the guy was some sort of kidnapper or trafficker, Zero supposed that made them saviours. Unintentionally. He shrugged. “Whatever. It's not up to me. You can tag along if the others don't kick you out.” After all, they picked up strays from all over the place. The useful ones, like Zero, stayed; the useless ones didn't live long enough to become a nuisance.

He did turn away then, and heard scrabbling as the kid climbed out of the ruined cart, a thick splash as pale feet sunk into mud. It felt like being followed by a lost puppy. This 'Corrin' seemed too soft for the bloody back alleys of Windmire, but that wasn't Zero's problem, was it?

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached the place these people called home, Corrin's legs were so tired he felt shaky, nerves frayed threadbare. He didn't dare complain. It was a squalid wreck of a building, with boarded windows and rat droppings on the sills, creaking floors splinter-riddled and stained. But although these people were scary, they took him from something even scarier. And a boy around his own age lived here, which meant he might find a thin measure of safety to cling to. He didn't know what else to do.

The boy had a dirty, scowling face, but his hair looked soft and fluffy, like a cloud, and his eyes were the bright blue that Corrin thought skies ought to be, somewhere far away from here.

“Leave him there, for now,” one of the adults said to the boy, nodding towards a line of grubby pallet beds. Two were already occupied by sleeping children, blending with their grey surroundings so well that Corrin hadn't noticed them at first. “We'll figure out what to do with him tomorrow.”

“Why me?” the boy grumbled. The adults ignored him and headed off to another room, carrying sacks with the things they'd taken from the cart. Corrin didn't know how to feel about the robbery, the dead man. Robbing and killing were horrible crimes, but so was kidnapping, and that man had never spoken a word to him, just bundled him amongst the cloth and apples and other cargo, like that's all he was, another lifeless thing to haul around.

The boy sighed, gesturing to the pallets. “Just pick one. If it belongs to someone else, you'll find out.” With that, he went over to one himself and slumped down, curling up to fit under an asymmetric rag of blanket.

Corrin hesitated, then chose the neighbouring pallet, and copied him in lying down. The boy huffed, turning over so his back was to Corrin. It was a clear sign to be left alone, but desperation pushed Corrin to be bold, scrabbling for any type of kindness in this strange place. “What's your name?” he whispered.

“Ugh. Zero.”

“Thank you for-”

“Don't.” Zero cut him off. “You'll be dead in a week, I bet. So I'm not getting to know you.”

Corrin bit his lip, felt his eyes sting with tears again. And his legs still hurt, his feet itched with horrible dried-on mud, his head ached and he'd never been so hungry in his life.

Worst of all, he wasn't lying when he said he couldn't remember where he came from. Before the past few days, all he had was a black hole in his mind, muddled and fearful, and the sense that his real home was very, very far. He wasn't even sure that anyone would be looking for him.

 

* * *

 

“Quit following me!” Zero snapped, over his shoulder.

Corrin paused, but then kept trotting along the lane, as if he couldn't think of anything else to do. “But Bailey said-”

“I don't care what he said, he's an asshole. You're not _my_ responsibility. You wanna stay with us? Here, go earn your keep.” As he finished speaking, they stepped into a market square. Lines of stalls sprawled out, faded awnings sheltering trays of vegetables, pottery, dried fish, cotton and wool, luck charms and herbal remedies, spices and grain, all in varying states of rot or repair. None of the fancy stuff you'd find in richer districts, close to the castle which lurked in the city's pitted heart. Good enough for them, though. Less vigilant, poorer paid guards here.

Corrin looked at him blankly, and Zero had an urge to smack him around the head – only because that's what the others would do, if he gave _them_ that type of look.

“Are you really that dumb? You know we're thieves, right? So go steal something. Show you're not dead weight, or you'll be out on your own.” Without waiting for an answer, Zero strode off. This time he wasn't followed.

He thought that was the last he'd see of Corrin. Either the kid would actually follow Zero's advice, try to pick a pocket and get caught, or he'd simply become lost in the unfriendly crowds. Either way would be for the best, if Bailey – the gang's leader – wanted Zero to look after him otherwise. It was hard enough keeping yourself safe here.

Zero had his own rounds to make. He wasn't hungry; because he helped with that job yesterday, he earned a breakfast of gritty porridge. Now he drifted around looking for purses to cut, moments of distraction or unwariness in merchants to take advantage of. Everything here was for sale, which meant people out there would value it, which meant it was worth taking. He'd just bring it back, let the adults sort out the rest, and they'd reward him accordingly. That was their system.

By midday he'd snatched a couple of pouches from a herb merchant, a bundle of wool, and four copper coins. The gang had a drop-off point not far from the market, disguised as a food stall, with a sharp-eyed hag to note what each child brought back. Always wearing a purple shawl, always stirring a pot of foul, unrecognisable stew. One of the other children told him that she'd throw any old garbage in there, weeds and mouldy sawdust and dead maggoty pigeons, to fill the pot.

Today she nodded impassively at his offerings, neither pleased nor disappointed, and he headed back to see what afternoon would bring. Someone was hawking water flavoured with lemons from Izumo, someone else offered smoked eels from the Adderback River. A woman shook a tawny animal skin, claiming it was a genuine kitsune pelt to bring good fortunes, but more likely it came from a feral dog.

Amongst these familiar sights, Zero didn't expect to glimpse Corrin, sitting on the steps of a building at the square's edge, eating a cheese pasty. He smiled and waved to Zero, who couldn't help but approach, curiosity getting the better of him. Maybe this kid wasn't as stupid as he looked.

“Would you like some?” Corrin broke the pasty in half, as if it was no big deal, and Zero's pride melted at the aroma of warm cheese and fresh, buttery pastry. He tried not to snatch it too eagerly.

“Where'd you get that?” he asked, between hasty bites. Slow eaters were open to theft from anyone stronger or hungrier. He could have bullied away the other half of Corrin's pasty easily, but he didn't, moved to uncharacteristic magnanimity.

“A nice lady gave it to me.” Corrin's smile brightened, and Zero's estimation of him dropped back down. Must be that cute, innocent face, making people feel sorry for him. Bitterness in that thought. “And then a nice man gave me a coin.”

“For doing what?”

“I read him the poem carved under the statue over there. He said he used to know all the words, but nobody in his family can read, so he hasn't heard it in years.”

“Bullshit. You can't read either, only rich people can.”

“I can! It said, um, _Blessed by the harvest gods-_ ”

Zero made a waving motion to shut him up. He didn't care what the poem on some old statue said, unless it was funny or rude, and if it involved gods then it was probably neither. “Fine, so where are you from, that taught you to read? You said you can't remember, right? If you're lying, I'll cut your pointy ears off.”

“I'm not lying!” Corrin clapped both hands over his ears protectively. After a few moments, he lowered them and continued, “There's some scary people here, but kind ones too. I feel a lot better than yesterday.” He took another cheerful, too-slow bite of pasty. There were crumbs in his hair now.

“You've got to be kidding me.” This kid would still be dead within a week, Zero felt certain. But for now... “C'mon then. I'll show you where to take that coin. And if you get asked to taste the stew, don't.”

 

* * *

 

One week passed, and then two. There were lots of things Corrin didn't like – the weird-smelling beds full of biting bugs, and being hungry a lot, and when the adults got drunk and shouted at each other (usually they did that in other rooms of the house, but noise carried). He didn't like stealing from people, but Zero explained that it wasn't greed, it was survival. Sure, now and then a kind soul might give you something for free, but they won't do it reliably every day, and you need to eat every day, don't you? Phrased that way, and measured against the pains in his stomach, Corrin couldn't argue. Still, every time he subtly pocketed something the way Zero showed him to, he recited a silent apology inside his head.

He tried to make friends with the other children, but they were even less interested than Zero. One of the boys hit him, gave him a bloody nose and snatched his breakfast. One of the girls seemed nice, but she got sick and began coughing globs of blackish-green phlegm, and then she wasn't around any more. Sometimes the others teased him for following Zero, and then Zero got mad and said mean things, and deliberately went places Corrin couldn't. It was okay, though. Corrin knew he was weak and naive compared to everyone else, and a crybaby, but he kept trying his hardest.

It wasn't a nice life, but he had no memories of anything else, and there were grim hints that if he didn't remain here, he could easily stumble into worse places.

When his breakfast was stolen for the third day in a row, and he felt too weak to even cry over it, Zero surprised them all by stepping in. Corrin barely followed what happened, only that one minute there was shouting, nasty insults flung back and forth, and the bigger boy moved to hit Zero – but then he was on the floor wailing, with something sharp sticking out of his leg, and Zero standing over him. Corrin blinked, mesmerised by the gleaming red of the blood, then glanced around anxiously to see if any of the adults would come.

“See?” Zero's smile was cruel as he looked down at the bigger boy. Corrin felt a chill rake through him, before remembering that this was done to help him. Wasn't it? “That extra food makes you fat and slow. I'm sick of you. Don't come back here.”

Did children have power to banish each other like that? Others had gathered to watch, but nobody did anything, either to help the boy on the floor or to challenge Zero. Footsteps heralded the approach of an adult – they were easy to distinguish because only adults had proper boots, making heavy thuds rather than bare feet pattering over the grimy boards.

“The fuck's going on here? Zero? Mal?”

Mal stopped wailing and clutched at his leg, trying to look stoic. “That bastard just went at me! Look what he did!”

Zero didn't look worried about being punished. “So? If you were tougher, you could've stopped me. Like if the little kids were tougher, they'd stop you taking their food. It's all fair, right?”

Amazingly, the adult nodded. “You want to starve out the new kids, Mal, I don't care. Always more where they came from. But don't expect anyone to bail you out if it goes sour on you.” With that, he turned away, leaving the children alone in their makeshift dormitory again.

Corrin watched him leave, baffled, forced to accept that yet another element in this world was skewed, nightmarish and wrong. Adults were supposed to stop children fighting and tell them to play nice, weren't they? Not leave a boy hurt like this. Even if that boy had been starving Corrin to death, it felt wrong to watch him drag himself out of the room, smears of blood adding another layer of staining to the floor.

Zero picked up the stolen breakfast, the cause of this fight, a chunk of dark rye bread. Carelessly he broke it in two, and pushed one piece back into Corrin's hands. Then he strutted off, without a word. The other children drifted away as if nothing had happened.

Mal never did come back. Corrin learned to eat the way the other children did, wolfing his meagre portions down in quick, ravenous bites, so it was gone before anyone could think about snatching it. He didn't want to see that chilling smile on Zero's face again, for his sake or otherwise.

 

* * *

 

“Hey. You coming to the Edge today?”

Zero glanced at the girl who'd spoken, noting excitement on her face. The other children in the thieves' den weren't exactly scared of him, but they didn't often look at him with happy expressions, unless something bigger was on their minds (the exception being Corrin, but they'd already established that kid was an idiot). “Why, is someone doing a dance for the king?”

“Better, a jump! And it's some guy Bailey didn't like, so he said he'll buy us all pies to celebrate.” That last part probably wouldn't hold true, but the possibility was a good enough lure.

“Count me in, then.”

The girl went skipping out of the dormitory, humming the tune to _Princess_ _Annabelle_ _'s Coffin_ , one of the adults' favourite drinking songs. Zero turned to Corrin, sound asleep on the next pallet over. What a lazybones. Zero pinched him awake, grinning as he yelped and floundered, limbs tangling in his scrap of blanket.

“Hurry and get up. We're going across to the Edge today. Ever been there before?”

Calming and untangling, Corrin shook his head. “Is it scary?”

“What? It's where the royal castle is, dumbass.”

“We're going to the castle?”

Zero gave a drawn-out groan of annoyance. “Just get up, or I'm leaving you behind.”

The city of Windmire, as anyone with half a brain knew, was centred around a huge pit, with Castle Krakenburg at its heart. Down there, supposedly, the castle was sheltered from harsh weather as well as enemy attacks, always warm and kept bright with thousands of magical lamps. Up above, clustered around the pit, squatted the houses and shacks of common folk. The worst districts, like the one they lived in, sprawled outwards. From above, Windmire probably looked like a giant, dirty eye, with the castle as a glaring pupil.

That's what it meant, going to the Edge. He didn't bother explaining to Corrin though, just headed off and let the kid follow him. They saw others heading in the same direction; it was an event, when somebody jumped for the king. He didn't explain the meaning of that either, figuring it would be fun to see the shock on Corrin's face, when he found out.

There was another good reason to come here. A spectacle meant crowds, too distracted to notice small, nimble pickpockets. There was already a press of people when they reached the Edge, making it hard to see the normal staging area. Opportunistic buskers and hawkers added to the clamour, and Zero's mouth watered at the aroma of hot pies, oatcakes and baked apples. He hoped Bailey would actually come through and buy some. Or maybe he could pilfer one for himself. Food stalls tended to have vigilant merchants, though.

He glimpsed the pikes of soldiers on the stage, and more around the barriers that stopped people plunging over into the pit. Nudging Corrin, he pointed them out, and said under his breath, “Whatever you do, don't get caught here.”

Corrin nodded. “Is the show starting soon?”

“Show? Yeah. Looks like they're on their way now.”

A rising murmur amongst the crowd. Zero glanced around, then scrambled his way up a small wall to get a better view. Another set of soldiers were forcing people to part, making a clear path to drag the prisoner along. As they stepped onto the stage, yelling erupted, and a few thrown items sailed in the prisoner's direction. Funny, since Zero doubted if many people had a grudge against the man, or cared what he'd done. They'd just get caught up in wanting to punish him, kick while he was down, because he'd been made an acceptable target. It gave them a little taste of malice, let them air out nasty impulses and still be called respectable citizens at the end of the day. That's what people were like.

With this view of the stage, Zero could see the scaffold for hangings, empty nooses tied neatly out of the way, and the guillotine frame with its stained bucket underneath. Those methods wouldn't be used today. Instead, at one end of the stage sat a simple platform, jutting over the Edge.

Facing the crowd, a soldier unrolled a scroll, announcing the prisoner's name and reading a list of crimes to random jeers and shouts. The man kept his head bowed, expression hidden, hands tied behind his back. Looked like he'd already accepted his fate. Sometimes they cried and screamed, begged forgiveness or cursed King Garon's name, and it was more entertaining.

“Was he a really bad guy?” Corrin had managed to scale the wall too, watching the scene with a worried air. He'd figured out something unpleasant was going to happen, then.

“No worse than our lot. He just got caught, and we didn't.” Zero said it with nonchalance. The list of crimes included theft, blackmail and murder, and he was pretty sure Bailey had done all of that, and then some.

“So if we got caught taking things, we'd be punished too?”

“They don't to it to kids. But the adults, yeah, if they wanted to make an example.”

Corrin's face screwed up anxiously. The crowd shifted, restless, mutterings growing louder as the soldier finished speaking and the prisoner was herded towards the Edge. A few turned their heads away, but most jostled for a better view, some getting warned back for leaning over the barriers. There were stories of prisoners' lovers throwing themselves over so they could die together, but Zero had never seen anything like that for himself.

It was called 'jumping for the king', but he wondered if the king actually watched. If there was a plush throne sitting down at the pit's floor, and he'd swig wine and make bets with his courtiers about where prisoners would land, then watch servants scrape up the mess of shattered meat and bone. That's what Zero would do, if he were in charge.

The prisoner shuffled across the platform, prodded by pikes. The crowd fell silent, attentive, but any last words were lost on the wind. A step into the abyss, a fading scream, and swiftly as that it was done.

The crowd stirred back to life, spell broken, and people cheered or booed at the soldier's announcement that justice had been served (whether they booed against the prisoner or the soldier, ultimately it didn't matter). Zero stole another glance at Corrin, who had his hands over his eyes.

“Hey!” Zero elbowed him. “Did you miss it? What a waste!”

“I don't want to see anybody die,” Corrin said, soft and shaken. Zero rolled his eyes.

“Are you for real? Fine, I won't bring you next time.”

 

* * *

 

Weeks turned into months, and Corrin lost count. He grew to know the streets of Windmire, the places it was relatively safe to go, and the places Zero would drag him away from, if he made a wrong turn. Where begging might get results, where stealing could pay off, or where scavenging might yield something worthwhile. Other children moved in and out of the gang. Festivals came and went, then came around again the next year. Sometimes the weather grew cooler, sometimes a little warmer, but Nohr's main constant was steel-grey skies, as if the sun were an enemy and the clouds their armour against it.

Corrin never stopped wondering about how he lived before, but there was no way to discover it, to pull the memories back, so all he could do was daydream.

Then Zero vanished for three whole days, and nobody knew where. Corrin wandered all their usual haunts, increasingly frantic. The market that Zero first took him to, and then East Greys market, which was bigger and boasted a broken idol of the Dusk Dragon in the square. Steeple Street, where bars promised drunken, unwary pickpocketing targets (though sometimes they'd already spent their last coins on ale). Glassbones Alley, Little Dia the riverside district where you might swipe something from an unattended barge, Prince Magnus Park where neglected land had mutated into a shantytown.

He returned to the thieves' den to find Zero sitting on his pallet, dazed, with brownish-red rags wrapped clumsily around half his face.

“Zero!” Distress bubbled up, and Corrin hurried to kneel beside him, reaching out. Zero smacked his hand away.

“Don't touch,” he muttered. His tone was duller than usual, his one visible eye fixed on the floor.

Corrin cast about for help. On another pallet sat a girl, picking absently at a loose thread on her sleeve. She was older than them, and spent a lot of time trying to get a certain special herb, to soothe her sad moods. She smelled like it now, dry and woody and faintly sour, which meant she probably hadn't even noticed them, and wouldn't be any use.

“What happened?”

Zero shrugged. “Trouble with the wrong person.”

“If you're hurt then we have to...have to get medicine, or-”

“Just shut up. You're making my headache worse. ...Are you seriously gonna cry over that?”

Corrin sniffed, eyes welling up. “Because you're hurt...”

“ _Fine._ ” A note of Zero's usual sharpness returned, but then he hesitated. “You can look, at least. Not here though.” He climbed slowly to his feet, and Corrin followed him into another room, barely more than a cupboard, with light thanks to a hole in the roof. Crusted with blood, the rags stuck to his skin as he fumbled to pull them free, wincing.

One of his eyes wasn't there any more. A raw, empty socket, sinking back into darkness where there should have been bright blue, the skin around it scratched and inflamed. Corrin burst into tears at the shock. He didn't understand how Zero wasn't crying too, because it looked so painful. “Where's your eye?” he whimpered, and Zero made a disgusted noise in response.

“Knew it was a mistake showing you.” He moved to shove past Corrin and out of the cupboard, but Corrin latched onto his arm, hugging it to keep him in place. “What?”

Corrin couldn't speak, but he didn't want Zero to go. He wanted to help make it better, somehow. Gradually, he wriggled from holding Zero's arm into hugging him properly, and though Zero only stood there, not reciprocating, that was okay (if someone touched him and he really didn't like it, he'd kick them and call them bad names).

“You're such a baby. But you can help wash it, so it doesn't go worse. And find better stuff for bandages. Think you can manage that?”

Corrin nodded, and said quietly, “It's okay. I'll help you.”

Zero gave an impatient sigh, but the tension in his stance eased, just a bit.

 

* * *

 

Bailey and the other adults wouldn't accept dead weight. No matter how rotten Zero felt, he needed to go out each day and beg or steal his way to a profitable quota. Miss the quota, no food tomorrow. Miss the quota for a whole week, get thrown back onto the streets. They didn't care how many eyes he had, or how his head felt dizzy and burning, frighteningly weak.

True to his word, Corrin tried to help. He and Zero sneaked into the postyard of an inn each night, because the pump they used for filling the horses' trough had good, clean water. Zero stuck his head under it, let it soothe the wound on his face and ease his fever, and in the darkness, he didn't have to feel self-conscious. He hadn't dared to find a mirror and look at himself. He knew it must be horrible, the way Corrin reacted (not that it took much to make Corrin cry, still soft-hearted after almost two years of this miserable life).

Corrin offered to fill Zero's quota too, but the truth was that he barely scraped by with his own, not wanting to steal from people who 'looked sad' or 'looked kind' or 'looked like they couldn't afford to lose anything'. One time, Zero found a dead guy with nice clothes – well-made boots, brass jacket buttons – and told Corrin to help carry them away; Corrin spent the rest of the week upset over it, fretting because they'd disrespected some dumb corpse. He'd never have the guts to kill anyone, or even threaten them. He could survive here, but never thrive.

So Corrin couldn't do enough. And Zero couldn't help himself, too sick to earn his keep through violent means and too clumsy for stealth, struggling to adjust to compromised vision. But he kept trying, not knowing what else to do, until the day when two of the adults approached his pallet with stone-cold expressions. Silently, the other children who'd been resting all disappeared, sensing trouble of a type they didn't want to stay and watch. Corrin was out somewhere, having made an optimistic promise that he'd bring cheese pasties back for dinner.

Without speaking, one of the adults made a grab for Zero's bandages, yanking them off and making him cry out, pain flaring on the bad side of his head. His chin was pinched, face critically inspected (he resisted the impulse to try and bite their fingers off).

“It's a fucking mess. Ruined for that, as well.” The adults exchanged looks with each other, not him, as if he wasn't even a person. He clenched his fists, enduring, waiting for them to let go and show him the door. That's what they were going to do, right?

“Let's see. …Shit. Might be salvageable, though? It's an extra hole?” A twist of nasty laughter at the end of the words. Zero felt a sick ripple of foreboding.

“Who'd take one like that, though? Cosgrove? Leah?”

“Sure, try Leah's.” Then, as if acknowledging Zero could hear them for the first time, the man made eye contact and said, “C'mon. Change of scenery for you.”

“What?” Zero resisted when the man grabbed his arm, wanting to back away. Wanting to run, because he was no fool, and that vague conversation was enough to alert him to what they had planned. They'd done it before, to other children whose usefulness had failed. Mainly girls. He hadn't thought they'd pick that fate for him, too.

“You heard. Now fucking behave yourself.” A growled command, a knife briefly drawn and then slid back into its sheath. Just a warning, for now.

“Zero!” In a textbook piece of bad timing, Corrin burst into the room, all naive, wide-eyed confusion. “What's happening?”

“Say goodbye to your friend. He's going.”

“Going where? I'll go too!” Corrin latched onto Zero's other arm, and a second wave of panic struck, because that was the absolute gods-damned worst thing he could possibly have said.

“No, you're not.” Zero scowled, tried to shake him off, forcing a tough face on. Too little, too late. His heart sank as he watched the adults consider it, then nod, and one took hold of Corrin's arm too.

“Sure, why not? This one's cute, not damaged goods. Doesn't bring in that great a profit here. Leah can have them both – we'll say it's a special offer.”

Every word made Zero want to scream, swallowing down bile. Now he was dead certain what they'd planned, and if facing it himself wasn't awful enough, he'd dragged his stupid, soft-hearted friend into it as well. Thoughts blurred with half-formed escape plans, stolen knives, smashed bottles, makeshift weapons and potential distractions, ways to get them out of this. With each step through the streets he glanced around desperately, kept trying to catch Corrin's eyes, to signal that he needed to run. They turned away from familiar districts, towards a place he didn't know, because he'd never wanted to. His head throbbed so violently, he couldn't focus. The grip on his arm never faltered, feeling like it would leave bruises down to his bones.

Through the side door of a tall, narrow building, into a room fogged with throat-stinging incense, where a sour-faced woman looked them over critically, prodding Corrin's pointed ears and grimacing at Zero's missing eye. She counted out tarnished coins on her palm, handed them to the men. He still couldn't see a way out – their knives were too closely guarded to steal, there were no bottles to smash, no windows to climb out of. Nothing.

Pushed into a different room, left alone, a click as the door locked. Bare of furniture except for a rug covered in burn marks. Zero wanted to back into a corner and dissolve through the wall, become invisible. He remembered one time, some of the other children found a young crow with a damaged wing in the street, how they'd tormented it as the parents shrieked helplessly from rooftops. A strange, disjointed memory, but it mirrored how he felt.

“Zero, what's wrong? Where are we?” Corrin asked, still infuriatingly clueless, only looking worried because Zero was. How could he be so _nice_ , that he couldn't even guess what was going to happen? How could the world look so nice to him?

“Why did you follow me?” Zero wailed, an outburst of venom directed at the only target here, and shoved Corrin hard enough to make him fall over.

Of course Corrin started to cry, with his pathetic I-know-I-won't-be-comforted sniffles. In a while it faded, leaving only silence. Zero huddled with arms wrapped around his knees, and tried feebly to convince himself that at least he wasn't going to die, so it wouldn't be too bad. With no sunlight, there was no way to gauge the passing of time. It could have been minutes, or hours, until they were next disturbed.

They both jumped slightly when the door was unlocked. Zero froze as the woman glanced between them, then laid a hand on Corrin's shoulder and ushered him away.

“Corrin!” Zero reached out as if he could snatch him back, out of harm. As if he was anything other than absolutely powerless. The door slammed shut.

Zero slumped down and cried. It felt weird with only one eye, the ruined socket aching as if tears were clogged up with no way out. When the screaming started, he clamped his hands hard over his ears, but the walls were too thin to block the noise.

Then he realised they were adults' screams. A crash of breaking wood, muddled yelling, rapid footsteps. The doorknob to his room began rattling; he scrambled to his feet, glancing around for the hundredth time, as if a new hiding place might suddenly appear. Another crash, and the door's planks splintered as if they'd been struck by a warhammer.

In stumbled something that was Corrin, yet not Corrin. Face framed by twisting silver horns, one hand warped into a huge, monstrous claw, dripping thickly with a stranger's blood. His eyes locked onto Zero's, wild and scared, and when he held out his non-clawed hand, Zero grabbed it. It didn't matter why he was like that, what he was, Zero didn't care. All that mattered was a way to keep them safe.

In the corridor, a trail of bloody footprints showed where Corrin came from. Zero took the lead, pulling them in a different direction, finding a flight of stairs down, bursting into a kitchen. At the stove stood a girl with long, blonde hair and a gravid stomach, stirring a black iron pot; she spared them a vacant doll-like glance, then carried on stirring. The next door led to a tiny, fenced-in yard with three different padlocks on the gate. Solid padlocks, fixed into rotten wood that took seconds for Corrin to break through.

They ran and ran, not caring how people shouted or stared after them, until Zero felt like his lungs were burning and Corrin's hand dragged at him, unable to keep pace. They halted in an empty alley, in some part of town he barely recognised, nowhere near the thieves' den they came from. Didn't matter. They were never going back there again.

And Corrin, when Zero looked at him, was the same cute kid as always, no trace of horns or claws. Only the bloodstains remained as evidence, dyeing his shirt and painting his skin.

“You okay?” Zero asked, because he didn't know what else to say. As if either of them could be okay.

Corrin hesitated, still catching his breath, voice timorous. “Zero, that man... I killed him.”

“Yeah. Good thing you did, too.”

“I got scared and pushed him and my hand went _through_... Everyone was screaming. The man, and the woman outside, and-”

“Good,” Zero repeated, fiercely. It was soothing to picture the terror on those disgusting peoples' faces, when their kitten turned into a lion. He was only sorry he'd missed the show.

Who would have guessed, a violent beast hiding inside _this?_ He felt a sense of pride towards Corrin, and...he should probably be grateful, too. Otherwise he'd still be trapped there. That was too much to think about. The rush of escape had made him forget the pain in his head, but now it was shrieking back with a vengeance. He leaned back against the alley wall to steady himself, not minding cold bricks or damp mortar.

“What do we do now?” Corrin asked, looking up at him. Before it was annoying, being followed around and pestered with questions, but Zero found he didn't mind it now. Nothing was the same as it had been before, all the old rules scratched out.

“Stick together. We don't need anyone else, especially not adults. They'll just try to screw us over again.” Zero tried to say it with confidence, and to his surprise, he meant it. The shadowed slums of Windmire were no place for a lone orphan, but two might be able to make it – especially if one of them could turn into a monster and rip apart anyone who'd hurt them. Yeah, if that was the case then they'd be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full content warning for this chapter: There's an off-screen attempt at sexual assault, which is quickly stopped, but the threat in itself might be distressing for some to read. Also there's description of Zero's missing-eye wound that might be squicky, although it's fairly brief.
> 
> Later chapters are a bit nicer than this one, I swear.


	2. Chapter 2

Two years passed since their flight to freedom. First they'd needed to find a new corner of the city, where Bailey's gang wouldn't pursue them. They might be angry, Zero explained, over what happened at 'that place'. As if they were the ones who had any right to be angry. On the upside, the city guard probably didn't bother to investigate such low-class deaths, and even if they tried, they'd never believe the truth. Nobody would label _Corrin_ as a violent murderer.

They found a place on the roof of a launderers, shelter created by the overhang of a taller neighbouring building. On cold days, the rising steam from vats of hot, soapy water was a comfort, and Corrin befriended some of the washing-women, so occasionally they gave him an old, tattered shirt or blanket that would otherwise be cast away. Zero teased him, said his ability to charm people was amazing. Zero would always be tougher, less trusting and more streetwise, and that was okay. Between the two of them, they balanced out, and they survived.

Corrin had only turned into a monster once more, to scare off some drunken thugs who were indiscriminately out for blood. It wasn't something he enjoyed, how it twisted up his thoughts until he lashed out, an alien weight of curling silver spikes blossoming from his head and hands. He didn't know where it came from – there were stories of Wolfskin who lived in the mountains and took the shape of beasts, but supposedly they had lupine ears and tails all the time, so they couldn't be mistaken for humans. Corrin was something else.

Still, what mattered most was that Zero didn't fear him for it. It was their shared secret, one amongst many.

At night they huddled together under their second-hand blanket and gazed at the moon, the frost-white stars. Corrin hummed melodies that might be half-remembered from his former life, or might be his own invention; Zero called them nonsense, but didn't tell him to be quiet. They'd heard about the concept of constellations, and invented their own, assigning silly names like _Old Lady Fighting Lobsters_ and _Bailey's Cut-Off Balls_ (that one came from Zero, of course). It might be warmer down in the castle, for the pampered, well-fed nobility, but they wouldn't get views like this.

Sometimes it helped, to tell themselves things like that. Life was still difficult. Sometimes Zero hurt people to make sure they had enough to eat. He didn't admit it to Corrin, not in words, but he'd go off alone and come back with small crescents of dried blood under his fingernails, clutching packets of stale bread or gluey porridge. Always devoured in minutes, no matter how flavourless.

Corrin didn't think his own life was worth more than anybody else's, worth making others suffer. If he wasn't here though, Zero would be alone, and Corrin would be another person who'd let him down. Zero wasn't _bad_ , not at heart. He'd just never had any choices.

Still, the further they moved from childhood, the more choices opened up. Neither knew their exact age, but Zero was on the cusp of becoming a young man. Gaining strength, being taken seriously. When he said strange things, often crude and a bit scary, people backed off where once they might only have scoffed. At first Corrin didn't get it, but after a while he realised Zero didn't really mean all those things. It was a way of saying 'leave me alone', to people who'd ignore the message otherwise.

Even knowing the tactical reasons, Corrin couldn't bring himself to talk like that. It was okay, though. They balanced out, so they didn't need to be the same.

Corrin was picking pockets at one of those horrible Edge executions, when another choice appeared. He'd thought he got away cleanly, but as he moved off – before today's criminal had 'danced for the king', which meant hanging on the gallows – a woman called to him.

“Nice work.” She gave a relaxed grin, no condemnation. He felt a jab of guilt anyway, because he always did, and regarded her cautiously. There was nothing striking about her appearance, reddish hair hacked to shoulder length, garb a practical tunic and trousers. “I'm Rhona. You here alone?”

“My friend's here too. Why?”

“You're pretty decent. If he's as good as you, I've got a proposition for you both.”

“Not interested,” Zero butted in. Corrin jumped, not realising he'd approached. Casually, Zero leaned an arm on Corrin's shoulder, showing camaraderie with his friend while excluding the stranger. “We get along fine without anyone else.”

“Yeah. Um, sorry Rhona, but we're going now.”

“At least hear me out! Hear me out, and I'll buy you both a pie from the stall. How's that sound?”

“Like bullshit,” Zero replied, eloquently.

“I'll get 'em upfront. Watch.” And she did, heading to the stall and slipping to the front of the crowd for a quick purchase. Corrin shared a glance with Zero, tugging his sleeve, and Zero sighed and gave a small nod. They'd listen, at least. They could disappear any time they wanted to.

“So, ever picked a lock before? Raided a house? It's riskier than picking pockets, but the payoff is better. You're out every day, right? My group only does three, four jobs a month, and that's all we need to. We're looking for new blood.” With that, she handed over the pies in their wrapping of greased paper. “Do well, and you'll live well. Better than you are at the moment, I'm sure.”

For once Zero didn't eat his food instantly, studying the woman with suspicion. “That's it? No catches? Nothing else we'd have to do?”

“Well, if we ran into trouble – house guards – you might have to fight.” She shrugged, as if this were a negligible problem.

“And if we changed our minds after a while?”

“Then you could walk. I don't want to be held back by people who aren't committed.”

Corrin glanced at Zero again, then nodded. “I think it sounds okay. We could give it a try.”

“Corrin!” Zero said his name indignantly, but didn't go against the decision.

The woman smiled. She had a small gap between her front teeth. “Corrin, is it? And your friend?”

“He's Zero. He's always looked after me.” Corrin returned the smile, then took a bite of the pie. It was delicious, with thick pastry, stewed meat and chunks of potato, any flaws in the cheap ingredients masked by extra herbs. A lot of people in Windmire were eager to lie and trick, but you couldn't go assuming everybody was that way. Otherwise you'd miss out on good things, as well as avoiding the bad.

 

* * *

 

No matter what happened, there seemed to be a stupid, undaunted streak of niceness in Corrin, wanting to trust and get along with people. That's how Zero saw it. But admittedly, it did sometimes work in his favour. Joining Rhona's gang became one of those times.

There were six others. The thieves Zero hung around with as a child had more than thirty members, ever-changing and disposable. With Rhona, it felt like a select group. Corrin was the youngest, apparently the perfect age she was looking for: small enough to fit through windows or gaps in fences, but not so fragile that he'd slow them down. He took to the new work gladly, consoled by the knowledge they were stealing from better-off people, who wouldn't suffer much from the crime.

As for Zero, he wasn't unhappy either. He liked sneaking through strangers' houses, baring secrets, feeling daring and powerful. Taking things and breaking things from idiots who'd led easy lives, giving them a rotten taste of all he'd been through. He liked to stand over their sleeping bodies and know how effortless it would be to snuff them out, to picture the looks of outrage and distress when they woke to find their plush homes in chaos. Even if the work hadn't been as lucrative as Rhona promised – and it was – he might do that for the sheer fun of it.

He and Corrin moved from their patch above the launderers into a proper room. Their own private four walls, rented above a third-rate tavern, sheltering them from riots and rainstorms. They could get reliable meals every day, and clothes without tatters. And shoes, despite Corrin's complaints that they felt weird and he preferred bare feet.

Zero didn't really remember the times before they were together. Corrin didn't, either. That wasn't normal, but not a problem either, since doubtless there was nothing worth remembering.

Rhona suggested he take up the bow, since lacking an eye affected close combat – bitterly, he couldn't deny the fact – but not long-range vision. She showed him how to aim and shoot, claimed he was a natural. He learned how to silence guards from a distance, and scope out good sniping spots ahead of a fight (but always kept a knife handy too, just in case).

With the older group members, he learned how to snatch somebody unawares, tie them up and carve out useful information. Blithely, Corrin remarked on how lucky it was that they often broke into places when the owner was out of town, or right after they'd bought some valuable new object. Zero bit his tongue and nodded.

A full year passed, and Zero knew how people were looking at him now. When he glimpsed himself in the silver-backed mirrors of the houses they broke into, he saw a reflection grown tall and handsome, a deceptively innocent blue eye balanced by a dashing eyepatch. Not such 'damaged goods' as the old gang judged him. Except now _he_ was in control. So why shouldn't he sneak off to a dark corner with a pretty girl or guy, occasionally? If he'd gotten a little drunk, to smooth the edges off his caution. It was meaningless fun, secure in the knowledge that if anyone tried to do something he didn't like, he could leave them dead as easily as leave them satisfied.

Corrin always watched him reproachfully after he'd been with someone, but didn't talk about it. Zero assumed it was another puzzling piece of Corrin's too-nice morality, thinking he shouldn't share his body with people he didn't love, or whatever.

It wasn't as if they ever got invited to his and Corrin's room. That space was private, off-limits. There was no intimacy in fucking somebody whose name you'd forget five minutes later. There was intimacy in falling asleep with somebody, letting yourself be vulnerable, listening to them mumble softly in their dreams. Knowing they'd smooth the jagged edges off your nightmares, hold your hand without being asked (as if they'd never seen the guilty blood underneath your fingernails, when you knew they had).

Zero used to have a lot of nightmares. Still did sometimes, but they couldn't hit as hard as before.

 

* * *

 

Life with Rhona's gang was an improvement over Bailey's, but Corrin didn't want to be a thief forever. He'd begun to think about setting money aside, opening an honest business once he became an adult. Zero would come along and be his partner, of course. He just wasn't sure what type of business it should be, or how much they'd need, or where a good place to keep the savings would be, since a bank wouldn't look twice at them.

Meanwhile the Festival of Burning Moons arrived, prompting Windmire's citizens to dress up in wild costumes, telling ghost stories and setting candles in the carved, sticky shells of pumpkins. Bonfires devoured straw effigies wearing masks of hated public figures (though nobody dared make a mask of King Garon, unpopular as he was). Every few years, in the slums where wooden shacks were crammed too closely, a fire would get out of control and people died. But nobody seemed discouraged by the threat, and safety wasn't policed with strictness.

When Corrin was smaller he'd been nervous of the fires and costumes, unrestrained chaos that felt as if it could swallow him whole. Silly now, he supposed, since he could look more frightening than all of them, and wouldn't need a mask or paint for it. And other people could be frightening inside, while looking perfectly calm and ordinary.

For once, they had the luxury of taking part in the holiday. Zero bought – or obtained, some way or another – dragon masks with shimmering paper scales, and cloaks to match. Black like the Dusk Dragon for Zero, white for Corrin, the Dawn Dragon (yes, they were at war with that deity's lands, but it was only a harmless costume). Nothing elaborate, just enough to be part of things.

They wandered the streets, treating themselves to candied apples from a stall, then sizzling fried meat from another, then a bottle of spiced ale. Smoke billowed up from bonfires all over Windmire, to the already-dark skies. They drifted from fire to fire, idly joining in cheers as effigies burned. One was painted like the High Prince of Hoshido, except nobody knew what he looked like, so they'd settled on a scowling face with a ring of braided straw to symbolise a crown.

When a brawl broke out around that fire, they moved on again, past gambling stalls and a shadow puppet show, dodging drunken revellers caterwauling through the town. Zero lifted a wallet from somebody, pocketing it with a smirk; he never missed an opportunity. The next group they passed were dressed like witches and vampires, and when an errant broomstick almost hit Corrin's head, Zero swept him out of its path, an arm around his waist.

Corrin blinked in surprise, then laughed, spices dancing on his tongue and his face flushed from the heat of bonfires, and stomach fluttering the way it sometimes did lately, around Zero.

“You're amazing,” he said, drawing the word out clumsily, and when Zero laughed too, the feeling doubled.

Then they were racing off again, ducking between kids throwing chunks of pumpkin at each other, finding another puppet show that was decidedly dirtier than the first, sharing a second and third ale until Corrin giggled helplessly at everything, and Zero ended up giving him a piggyback ride part of the way home.

As they passed through the tavern, a serving girl – the new one, wearing purple flowers in her hair – flashed Zero a bright smile, and Corrin frowned. They'd been together, last week. It spurred the opposite of what he'd felt before, a sickly thud in his stomach rather than a flutter. He suddenly didn't want to be carried, wanted to walk on his own two feet, wriggling out of Zero's grip and stubbornly stumbling up the stairs to their room.

Once in, he threw himself onto the bed, pulling off his mask to let cool air reach his face.

“Something the matter?” Zero asked, leaning against the door frame, sounding amused more than anything else. One eye of his mask was covered in glittering red stuff, like a real dragon's eye. The other was shadowed, making it hard to read his expression. They only had a few candles to light the room; Zero'd wanted to take a big golden candelabra from a place they robbed, but Rhona told him that was a stupid idea, and he'd get caught.

“Why do you like those people more than me?” Corrin demanded, in a sulkier tone than he'd intended.

“Huh?”

“You and those people... The ones you do stuff with.”

“Oh, _stuff_.” Zero made a rude hand gesture, for clarification. “What, you think that means I like them more? Ha. It's different. You'll understand when you're older.”

“I could understand now,” Corrin mumbled.

The casual warmth faded from Zero's manner. “No, you couldn't, and if anyone tried I'd stick a knife between their legs.”

“No, I mean... With you.” His heart raced as he said it, a sudden rush of bravado. It made sense though, didn't it? Then it would be just him and Zero doing everything together. Nobody else loved Zero the way Corrin did. None of them would be as good to him.

Zero sighed, pulling his own mask off. Underneath there was no eyepatch, only the empty socket with its jagged corona of badly-healed scarring. He'd talked about getting a false eye, silver or sapphire or some other decadently expensive mineral, but Corrin didn't think he would. He didn't let anyone else see him without the patch, ever. “You couldn't,” he repeated. “You're too young. I'm not saying that just to make fun of you, for once.”

Corrin wanted to argue. He wasn't too young to risk his life breaking into mansions, or watch his fellows haul away the corpses of poor overzealous guards. He wasn't too young for anything, by the standards of that place Bailey's gang dragged them to, where he punched through a man's chest and felt ribs snap against his claws. Granted those were all horrible examples, though. “But if I wasn't?”

“Give it a couple more years, okay? Then ask again. When you're not drunk.” At the last sentence, Zero's normal teasing attitude returned, and he sat down on the bed beside Corrin, ruffling his hair.

“I'm not drunk!”

“No? Stand upside down without falling over.”

“What?” He stared at Zero, who fixed him with an expectant look and gestured to the floor. Well, fine. Corrin stood, took a moment to focus, then leaned forward and wobbled, promptly falling on his elbows. Zero spluttered into laughter, followed by slow, sarcastic applause.

“You do it, then!” Corrin fired back at him, indignant.

Zero rose with exaggerated grace, planted his palms on the floor and executed a perfect handstand, coupled with an upside-down grin.

Two years was a long time, but if they passed as smoothly as this past year had, then he wouldn't worry.

 

* * *

 

Rhona was annoyingly inconsistent. One minute praising Zero for pulling off some daring stunt, the next calling him reckless, scolding him like a boy. He was seventeen or eighteen now, by his and Corrin's haphazard reckoning of their birthdays (Corrin was harder to pin down, could be twelve and old-looking, could be sixteen and young-looking). He deserved better recognition.

Overall, the gang's break-ins were getting more ambitious, and he did like that. Bigger risks, better gains, and extra fun along the way. They were building a reputation in Windmire's criminal underworld.

One night they were creeping around the second floor of an estate, when from a window somebody spotted a far-off guard, obliviously patrolling the grounds below, carrying a torch along tidy gravel paths. A faint figure moving through the dark. A nudge to Zero, a bet that he couldn't take them out in a single shot. He grinned, silently pushed open the window and let an arrow fly without thinking about it, dropping the guard dead. The torch fizzled out as it fell amongst small, cold stones. Zero struck a victorious pose.

And turned to see Corrin, staring at him in open distress before running off to another room. Zero cursed under his breath. Why _did_ he just do that? There was no need to kill that man, who hadn't seen them and was barely a threat.

“Corrin–”

“Oh, let him go. You coddle that kid too much. He needs to toughen up.”

That struck a nerve. Corrin was his weak spot, he knew, but it was nobody else's business to comment on. “What do you care? You wanna scold us like you're our parent?” Switching from harsh to fake-coy, he asked the older thief, “Going to spank me next, daddy?”

“Piss off, Zero.”

It was inelegant, but ended the conversation effectively, leaving him free to chase after Corrin.

Corrin stood in a parlour – one of those fancy rooms with no proper function – velvet curtains blocking out the moonlight, beside a stained-glass case filled with books. Fists clenched at his sides, the subtle indication that he wasn't okay.

“I know it can't be helped, sometimes,” Corrin said quietly, without facing him. “It's sad, but I do know. But you didn't need to do that, did you?”

“Sorry.” He meant it, and not only because he'd upset Corrin. There were a lot of good reasons to kill, but he'd only done it to show off, impress the adults. He wasn't too far gone to admit that, or to feel a flicker of regret. Most guards were bastards and bullies anyway, but not all of them, maybe. Maybe not that one.

“There's people who do bad things because they're bad, and people who only do bad things because they have to. I always thought we were the second type. Are we still? I keep hearing reasons why it's okay to do this and that, but I wish we could live without hurting anyone at all.”

Zero shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortably. It wasn't a speech that surprised him, coming from Corrin, but... “Are you thinking about leaving?”

That made Corrin turn around to look at him, finally. “I won't go anywhere without you.”

“All right.” That was as settled as they could get on the issue, for now. The middle of a break-in wasn't the time for long heart-to-heart talks. Zero patted Corrin's shoulder, and they refocused on the business at hand.

Maybe he did spoil Corrin, and maybe Corrin did restrain him. It was fine, though. Looking at Rhona and some of the others, at people they'd dealt with in the slums and black markets, he knew exactly how he'd be if he didn't have this kid shadowing him. How dead he'd be inside, how alone. Whatever reckless decisions he made, or what else he might take for granted, he'd never lose awareness of that.

 

* * *

 

At first it was thrilling, magical. They'd ventured into the pit before, but never this deep, all the way down to Castle Krackenberg. Corrin never dreamed they'd be walking _these_ halls, and it was just like in stories, the air warm and full of torchlight. Black marble beneath their feet, soft shoes to muffle their steps and servants' garb as a basic disguise. Gilded mirrors and blood-red banners on the walls. Everything was oversized, gorgeously decorated, and it took Corrin's breath away. Being here was enough of an experience, without needing to take anything.

They were, of course, here to take things: a secret treasure Rhona had heard about, recently brought to the castle, locked in an isolated vault. Rumours chased, guards bribed, floor plans sketched, the preparation had taken weeks. This was a truly special prize, she claimed, making everything else they'd sought – the cursed paintings, the murder doll, the cloak of flight and dragon's teardrops – pale in comparison. It was a chance they couldn't miss.

It was a shame they wouldn't be able to explore much, since all the royal children were supposedly in residence at the moment, and running across one of them would be very bad. They were trained as warriors from a young age, ready to lead the king's armies (the king himself was elsewhere, on other business). A small group of thieves couldn't hope to best them.

Corrin didn't worry, though. This was Rhona's plan, and she'd never led them wrong before.

They moved deeper into the castle, between grand halls and the plain, narrow corridors reserved for servants. Rhona guided them along a twisting route, only pausing when necessary to stay hidden. The first time a soldier halted them, the gang held their collective breath as Rhona talked her way past, showing the baskets they carried as props and bluffing up a story about what chores they were assigned to. It worked. The second time it appeared to work as well, and they strode away to Rhona's whispered promise that they were almost at the secret vault.

From behind them, from that second soldier who'd just let them pass, a shrill alarm whistle cut through the air. Rhona hissed a curse. Suddenly everyone was running, Corrin swept along, not understanding but reading the fear. Somehow they were suspected, uncovered. He couldn't tell if they were heading back the way they came or forward to a different place, every corridor blurring together. Torches, tapestries, door after door.

They were forced to a halt when the hallway split in two, both doors shut, no clues to what lay behind either. Rhona nodded for Zero to take the left, and somebody else to take the right. Corrin heard distant footsteps, the heavy tread of armoured boots, reinforcements closing in on them. His heart hammered nauseatingly. The right door was unlocked, and their ally crept through, scouting. Zero's door was locked, slowing him down as he picked it.

The footsteps grew steadily louder. Zero's door swung open, and he slipped through. The man from the right side reappeared, beckoning: his path was safe.

A warning shout. Corrin glanced back to see a squad of soldiers breaking into a run, instantly recognising them as people who shouldn't be here. He looked in panic towards Zero's door, but Rhona pulled him towards the other one.

“Zero!” he cried, as everyone else made it through the right-hand door. Rhona slammed it, throwing a bolt across, and seconds later something crashed against the other side. Metal-clad fists banging, demanding entry. “We can't leave him!”

“Sorry, kid. He was a good one, but...collateral damage,” she muttered, and Corrin tasted bile, prickling the back of his throat. He didn't want to believe it. However rough and cynical these people were, he'd thought they were a team. He'd thought they wouldn't let him and Zero down, not like the others, that they were safe together.

“No! If they catch him, he'll...” His voice cracked; it was too terrible to say.

Rhona wasn't listening, nobody was. Already off running, putting more space between themselves and the soldiers. And Zero.

Corrin turned back to the door. He thought of the Edge, the executions, the noose and the guillotine and the terrifying fall, imagined Zero up there instead of a stranger. Seeing a stranger was bad enough. His vision blurred, thoughts splintering like glass and all he felt was their sharpest points.

He threw the door open with claws, not hands. The soldiers cowered back, and seemed to move so slowly, spears easily smashed aside. Keening, feral shrieks rang through the corridor, and Corrin vaguely realised they were coming from him. An odd, heavy sensation, pulling and rippling along his spine, and for a moment he thought his shoulders were brushing the ceiling. No, not shoulders – wings. It should have filled him with wonder, but instead was a side-note to fear and fury, nothing more. He forced a path towards Zero.

Through the left-hand door, into a wider hallway. Zero crouched on a plum-coloured carpet, facing a line of soldiers with a boy at their centre. A boy with fair hair and expensive clothes, wielding a tome. The air around him shimmered with arcane power, and as Corrin watched a ring of trees burst from the ground, leaves swirling, branches trapping Zero in a cage that almost skewered him.

“Do you have anything to say, trespasser?” asked the young mage, haughtily. “Will you beg for your life?”

Zero gave a harsh, broken laugh, like something in his chest was hurting. “I'd rather you just kil-”

“Zero!”

All eyes turned to Corrin, and he heard the soldiers gasp but didn't care about them. He rushed forward, ripping aside one of the summoned trees, wood surprisingly brittle. A tail that he didn't remember appearing lashed another trunk aside, and wings dipped close to form a shelter, between himself and Zero and the world.

“It can't be... A draconic transformation? And outside the royal line?” The mage stared at them, then snapped at a soldier, “Fetch my elder siblings, immediately! Everyone else, fall back. Don't let them escape, but wait. This isn't so straightforward, after all.”

Corrin heard that but didn't focus on it, instead throwing his arms around Zero, helping him to his feet, careful not to hurt him with the claws.

“You came back for me? That was stupid.” Zero gave a forced smile. There was blood on his face, and his bow had broken, useless.

“Nobody else would help – they wanted to leave you!”

“Yeah, well. Screw them. But it would've been better to goad this kid into killing me quickly, rather than wait for a big, messy execution.”

“N-nobody's executing anyone.” Corrin glanced around at the soldiers, spears levelled, maintaining their distance but leaving no openings, nowhere to run. The mage had moved a little further back, still watching him intently, tome poised in hand.

“Corrin. That's one of the royals.” Zero sounded quiet, serious and unlike himself. Corrin's heart sank, and instinctively, childishly, he wanted to press closer for reassurance, like he always did.

“Leo! What's all this?” A new voice, and around the corner strode a tall, lavender-haired young woman. Her lace-trimmed blouse and swaying skirts looked at odds with the battle axe she wielded, the handle balanced over her shoulder with casual strength. “If we have intruders, surely you can...” Her words trailed off as her eyes fixed upon Corrin. A strange, puzzled expression crossed her face.

“You see the complication,” said Leo, at the same time as the woman cried out, dropping her axe.

“Corrin!”

Corrin started, and before he could ask how she knew his name, another royal marched into view. Taller still, with a commanding stare, and even a child raised in the slums could identify him – this had to be Xander, Crown Prince of Nohr. The second-most powerful person in the entire kingdom. “Leo? Camilla?” he asked, and then he too turned to Corrin. “Is that...?”

“My sweet little Corrin! I'd know that face anywhere!” Camilla surged forward, ignoring the soldiers who muttered in alarm and her brothers who reached to hold her back. Her voice began to waver, tearfully. “We thought we'd never see you again, my poor darling. It's been so many years. What happened to you?”

Corrin was too stunned to react, as she wrapped him up in a smothering embrace.

“Camilla!” Leo shouted.

“Amazing. Could it truly be Corrin?” Xander sounded calmer, thoughtful.

Mercifully, Camilla let go, and Corrin stumbled back a step. Over her shoulder, he shot a look at Zero, who offered a baffled shrug. He met Camilla's gaze, and didn't know what to make of the softness he found there, or the keen expectation.

“You recognise your big sister, don't you?”

“My...sister?” This was surreal. He'd thought these people would want to kill him, but instead... Corrin had never felt so confused. His monstrous features started to recede, since they couldn't help him out of this. Wings evaporating like water, jabs of pain as finger-bones and tendons reset into human shapes.

“Normally I'd be deeply sceptical.” Xander spoke again, approaching. Corrin could see the band of black iron on his stern brow. “There's no denying that transformation, though. Such a thing can't be faked, which means we're facing someone with potent dragon's blood. It could only be the lost Prince Corrin.”

“Prince?” Corrin glanced from one face to another, looking for some sign that this was a bizarre joke, or perhaps a dream, yet everyone regarded him with utter seriousness.

“Oh dear, do you think he's lost his memories again?” Camilla set a hand on his forehead now the horns were gone, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do, like a nurse checking for fever. Her overpowering perfume was like a thousand rare flowers. Corrin hardly dared to breathe.

“That does seem to be the case. Corrin,” Xander said, addressing him directly now. The Crown Prince knowing his name, even though Corrin had never known anything but poverty. “Regardless of the circumstances that brought you here, it seems you've been fortunate. Seven years ago, you disappeared from your room in the Northern Fortress without a trace, and we all feared the worst. Yet here you are. I take it from your manner that you don't recall anything of this?”

“I...” Corrin hesitated, head spinning. Did he? Something about these people did ring a faint bell, but couldn't that be because they were royalty and everyone had heard of them? But no, maybe it was more. He took a deep breath, struggling to think. A younger Xander, showing him sword drills but saying he was too small to learn yet. A younger Camilla, bringing him sweets from the castle kitchens. A younger Leo, carrying a heavy book in both arms. Were they echoes of genuine memory, or just what he imagined now, looking at the people in front of him and gauging their characters?

Family. It was years since he'd even wondered what sort of family he once had, the concept seemed so far away. Father and mother, brothers and sisters, togetherness and security. He'd learned to treat it as a pleasant fairytale, and the entire time, the real thing had been locked inside his head. People had missed him. None of the bad things he'd been through, that he'd done, needed to happen.

It was too much. On top of breaking into the castle, the fear of failing to escape, trying to defend Zero, the weariness that followed his monster transformation (they said the word draconic, didn't they?). He felt shaken, wanted to hide away and beg time to process it all. “I think so... I don't know,” he managed, trying to fend off the weight of their expectations.

Camilla sighed. “You poor thing. You've had a terrible time, so why don't you rest? We'll find a room for you.” She stepped back, her gaze shifting to Zero, who'd stayed unusually silent through all of this, not breaking in with any inappropriate comments. “As for your-”

“I can't go anywhere without him,” Corrin said quickly, not giving her a chance to suggest punishment. If what they claimed was true, if he was a lost prince and had any type of power here, then he'd use it to keep Zero safe. That was all he came back for. He circled around Camilla, taking hold of Zero's arm. These people might be his family, but Zero had filled the gap for all those years, and couldn't be brushed aside. Not ever.

“I suppose, since technically he brought Corrin back to us, a royal pardon could be in order,” Leo suggested. “It's not like he's a dangerous assassin. I wouldn't have minded sparing him, myself.”

Corrin offered a grateful smile. He didn't let go of Zero until they were well away from the soldiers, just in case.

 

* * *

 

“All right, now _this_ is a step up,” Zero announced, throwing himself back onto a four-poster bed with thick crimson curtains (and fighting a wince, as pain rattled up his shoulder and through his chest; he'd need to check those injuries soon). They'd seen similar rooms in the very best houses they raided, and it was hard to grasp this was actually meant for them. Well, not _them_ , only Corrin – but it seemed like Zero was tagging along for the ride, at least temporarily.

A lost prince. A few of Corrin's oddities made sense now, like his lofty, unrealistic morals and streak of sensitivity...though on second thoughts, that actually made _less_ sense, since King Garon wasn't a man you'd inherit traits like that from, was he? Not unless the real man was very different from his grim reputation. Corrin's 'monster' transformations made sense, anyway. They said the royal family had special powers, passed down their lineage thanks to an ancient gift of the Dusk Dragon's blood. Maybe they could all grow claws and tear people up, if the mood took them.

Corrin still hovered by the chamber door, looking lost. Zero sat up, patting a spot on the bed beside him, and waited until Corrin came to sit.

“Are you okay?” Corrin wiped at Zero's face with the cuff of his sleeve, and it came away bloodstained.

“Sure. Better than I thought we'd be.”

“What do we do now?”

“It's not like I'm used to situations like this, any more than you. But don't drop your guard. We're not safe just because the princes said so. The king might see things differently.”

“If he's my father, don't you think he'd welcome me?”

“No idea.” Fathers weren't always pleased to have that responsibility thrown at them, after all. Having money probably made it easier, though. “And be twice as careful around any royal younger than you. They might not like being bumped down the line for the throne.” It sounded insane, even as he said it. Corrin, grown from a crybaby street urchin to standing in line for the throne. Maybe Zero did die back there, and this was the prelude of some messed up afterlife. Heaven or hell, too soon to know.

“Right. ...Ah, I'm tired.” Corrin sighed, resting his head on Zero's shoulder - the uninjured one, mercifully - shifting until he found the perfect fit against the side of Zero's body, close as he could get. So familiar that he'd do it without thinking, whatever the surroundings.

“Lord Corrin?” A brief knock before the chamber doors swung open, and in bustled a maid. She froze at seeing them on the bed together (though it couldn't be a more innocent picture). “Oh! Am I interrupting something?”

What a stupid question. Zero grinned wolfishly at her. “Not at all. There's room for one more here.”

“It's okay, you're not interrupting,” Corrin intervened, before the girl ran off in fright. “Did you want something?”

“W-well, that's what I should be asking you! My name is Felicia, and I've been assigned as your maid. So if there's anything you'd like, please let me know. I'm happy to meet you, milord.” She bowed from the waist, hands clasped neatly over her apron. “I can – oh, is that blood?”

“Don't worry, it's not precious royal blood.” Zero indicated the cut on his head, nonchalant. Hardly the worst he'd ever suffered.

“I can fix that, though!” The flourish of a staff – where exactly did she have that stored? - and with a spellcasting glimmer, the aches of his injuries vanished. Well, that was a neat trick. “And, um...would you like some tea? Cookies?”

“Let's have both.” If this Felicia didn't mind taking orders from Zero as well as Corrin, then he didn't mind giving them. Corrin would probably breeze her away, say there's no need to trouble herself, and then they'd be left hungry. Tea sounded like a good idea, provided it wasn't poisoned. Not Zero's first choice of drink, but he supposed that anything worthy of being served in a palace wouldn't disappoint.

After Felicia left, Corrin remarked, “Huh, you seem more of a natural at this than me.”

“Maybe I'm a lost prince from somewhere too, then. We just have to find out where.”

A soft laugh. “Okay.”

While they waited for the maid to reappear, Zero let his gaze circle the room. An ornate marble fireplace, wardrobe, table and chairs finely carved from dark wood. Expensive rugs, not the splintering boards or damp rushes you'd find underfoot in the slums. An oil painting of wyverns flying over mountains. Tall windows with panes of real glass – another rarity in the slums, where it would easily shatter – and a balcony. Possible escape route, if they needed one later. An iron poker beside the fireplace, a heavy vase, the tasselled ropes tying up the curtains, all potential weapons.

Not that those observations would do a lot of good, if someone here really wanted them dead. No need to go down too easily, though.

He hadn't thought that way a short while ago, in front of the young mage, Prince Leo. He would have aimed for a quick death rather than being dragged away for questioning, torture, whatever nasty things they undoubtedly did to prisoners here. Alone, without hope, he knew what the lesser evil would be. By Corrin's side, things were different. His stubborn optimism was infectious.

Felicia reappeared with a silver tray, and promptly tripped, almost spilling everything. Only Corrin's quick reflexes saved the day, catching and rebalancing the tray, and of course he smiled and told her not to worry as she stuttered apologies. That incident aside, the tea was refreshing, with sugar and cream to disguise its natural bitterness, and the cookies were buttery and delicious, oven-warm. Zero poured for Corrin, jokingly calling him 'milord', because this situation was so absurd that all they could do was play it out.

Another knock at the door. Princess Camilla let herself in, glancing briefly at Zero before focusing all her attention on Corrin, as if nobody else existed. “Corrin? I said we'd let you rest, but I couldn't resist seeing you again. Are you feeling any better?”

“I am, thank you.” He paused awkwardly, seeming stuck on the right way to address her.

“Camilla. Just Camilla is fine. Or big sister.” Her smile was honeyed, indulgent. “You've grown up a lot, but as soon as I set eyes on you, I knew right away. It had been so long, we'd abandoned hope... And for you to arrive back here yourself, with a gang of thieves! Incredible, isn't it?”

“Well, yes. Believe me, I'm even more surprised than you.”

“It's a miracle, darling. You must have been through terrible trials, and all this time, it would have been so easy to help you...” She paused, looking down at her folded hands and painted nails with a troubled expression. Since she hadn't asked Zero to leave, he continued to observe silently, nibbling on the final cookie. “But you're safe here, now. And I want you to stay that way.”

“Camilla?”

“I've spoken to our siblings, and we're all in agreement. We plan to support you, and see that you're integrated here. For the moment though, be careful where you go, and who you talk to. And your friend...”

“Zero. He won't do anything to put me in danger.”

“If he does, then I'll kill him myself. That's my duty as a big sister.” She said it with a sweetness that sent shivers up Zero's spine. He believed her, completely. And in an odd way, liked her for it.


	3. Chapter 3

Servants bustled dizzyingly around Corrin: tailors to adjust his new clothes, maids to ensure he'd had a proper breakfast, barbers to tame his hair (he didn't think there was much wrong with it, but admittedly it was normally left to its own devices). Elise, his youngest sister, danced in with wishes of good luck, getting under everyone else's feet. He didn't know her before, but she'd taken to him instantly, and her sunny personality was hard to turn away from.

He needed luck because today King Garon returned to the castle, and would have an audience with his long-lost son. It wasn't precisely a welcome, Leo had explained (Leo was slightly younger than Corrin, but clever and pragmatic in a way that gave maturity). More like an evaluation, to gauge if Corrin was acceptable prince material. The king was critical of his offspring, demanded they be raised into useful adults. He might not be overjoyed with a son who'd grown up amongst criminals. Personal feelings didn't factor into it.

Corrin's mother, they said, didn't live at the castle and never had. All the royal siblings had different mothers, and most were dead. Cold, saddening pieces of knowledge.

So with jittery anticipation he struggled to button his shirt cuffs, and managed a few bites of bread and jam. To make things worse, Zero wasn't allowed to accompany him, hadn't been around all morning. They'd stuck together as much as possible over the past few days, the only real point of security for each other. Like always.

The doors to the royal audience chamber were tall as five men, carved from pitch-black wood and flanked by guards. Beyond, the hall was vast and echoing, and years as a thief made Corrin want to follow the walls, slink into the shadows, rather than crossing that exposed space to reach the throne.

On it sat a grim-faced, grey-skinned man, with a barbed crown and fur-trimmed cloak over battle armour, as if he expected enemies to assail even here. Corrin had seen portraits of the king, but would surely have recognised him regardless. He steeled himself, stepped closer, bowed and kept his eyes to the ground, waiting for acknowledgement.

“So, you've returned.” The king spoke brusquely, without warmth. “A host of witnesses have seen proof of your dragon blood, so there's no chance you're an imposter. The ancient dragons didn't waste their blessings on commoners.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” It felt too presumptuous to say 'father'. Corrin spoke with caution and formality, the way his siblings had coached him to. “I'm glad to have discovered the truth of where I come from.”

“The truth, hah... Yes. Still, there's the issue of your upbringing. Is a child raised on the streets fit to take a place amongst royalty?”

“I understand your doubts. I may not have had the education befitting a prince, but I'm used to working hard. I'll do whatever it takes to prove myself.”

“I would expect no less. Iago, your thoughts?” The king looked to a man with lank, dark hair, in the garb of a sorcerer, standing beside the throne. A cloak of feathers the colour of clotted blood.

Iago stared down his nose at Corrin, as if what he saw was still a child in grubby rags. “If he can master proper discipline, and catch up on the years of training he's missed, then he may be useful. _If_ he can do that...and if we're prepared to trust someone with such a dubious history, Your Majesty.” His tone made it clear that he wasn't prepared at all. Corrin's anxiety rose, fluttering like a wounded bird.

“Indeed. He seems sufficiently promising not to discard straight away, though. An incapable fool wouldn't survive long in a den of thieves. I'll allow a trial period, to test him.”

“A generous decision, Your Majesty. Shall we confine him to the Northern Fortress, as before?”

“I think not. There's no longer a point to that. Allow him a suite here in the castle, and have a schedule of training arranged, from dawn until dusk.” He turned from Iago, addressing Corrin again. “I will receive monthly reports on your progress. Do not disappoint me, child.”

“Thank you...Father.” Corrin bowed again, despite the feeling he wasn't fully out of danger, tension failing to vanish. Iago's eyes tracked him, like glinting pins trying to pierce his skin, as he left the audience hall.

It was unexpectedly brief. He'd imagined giving speeches, pleading, being asked to show his transformation on cue, all manner of different scenarios. Perhaps most of the deliberation happened behind the scenes, and this part was only a formality – perhaps the king's mind was made up before Corrin even walked into the room. In a way it was frightening, but he wanted to feel reassured. The king accepted him as a son, however tenuously. He might not be such a cruel man as everybody said.

Corrin walked out of the doors, past the guards, and made certain he was alone in the next corridor before taking a moment to lean against a window, breathe, feel the coolness of the glass against his forehead and wait for his heart to stop pounding.

 

* * *

 

“You summoned me, milord?” For the moment, while he and Corrin were in such a precarious state, Zero had chosen to try and curb his speech, limit the innuendo and barbed comments. Around the royals, if not the servants, soldiers, or anyone else in the legion of castle inhabitants. It didn't come naturally, but he'd managed not to infuriate anyone important yet.

The important person he faced now was Prince Leo. The prince sat behind an oversized desk, covered in neat stacks of books, parchments, inkwells and seals and other scholarly equipment. His chair was high-backed, imposing, although Zero suspected he sat on a cushion or two to boost his own height. He couldn't be more than fourteen, at a guess.

“I did. As you know, Corrin is currently in audience with the king. Assuming the outcome is favourable, he'll be officially reinstated as a member of the royal family. Which begs the question – what are _you_ doing here?”

“Corrin and I have always looked out for each other.”

“Lord Corrin. He's Lord Corrin, unless you're alone with him. And yes, from what he's said, I understand you've been instrumental in his survival up to now. He's very fond of you. Regardless, it's not our habit to let thieves break into Castle Krakenberg, and then stay on as house guests.”

Leo paused, perhaps giving Zero a chance to speak, but what could he say to that? With a sinking heart, he knew it was true. Whatever he and Corrin meant to each other, it didn't matter to these people. Corrin was a rising star, and Zero was dredged from the gutter. Time to toss him back where he belonged.

Lack of surprise didn't make it easier to bear. He pictured returning to their old haunts, sleeping alone in their room above the tavern, trying to start a new chapter in his life, without his only friend. Raw despair, scraping him out piece by piece. These accursed royals could have anything they wanted, and now they'd steal the only thing that was precious to him, too (painfully ironic, since Zero only came here to steal from _them_ ). He wished this whole place would burn to the ground.

“If you wish to remain by his side though, there is a way. Do you know what retainers are? They're elite servants, bodyguards and aides to royals. Normally each of us has two, although that isn't currently the case. One of my brother's – Xander's, that is,” Leo corrected, remembering that he had two brothers now, “perished a few weeks ago, and he's scouting a replacement. It's dangerous work.”

No, it was a lifeline. Zero tried not to appear desperate as he snatched it. “I've never done work that wasn't dangerous.”

“I suspect not. So speak to Corrin about becoming his retainer.”

“My background wouldn't be held against me?”

“Skill and dedication are more important. I'll have a contract drawn up by this evening. There's also a traditional blood rite, but it's nothing taxing. You'll receive a wage for your services, and quarters within the castle, as well as being expected to participate in training exercises.” A brisk, formal speech, as if they were two seasoned merchants rather than teenagers. “You're an archer from what I saw earlier, so we'll provide a bow and arrows from the castle armoury. There's no set uniform for retainers. Meals are served in the soldiers' mess hall, and any injuries you receive can be treated by our healers. I'll have someone show you around at a convenient time – though I'm not sure how much of the castle you've already explored,” he added, wryly.

“...Thank you, milord.” Was this where Zero ought to bow, or something? He did so, with a slight sense of awkwardness, alongside overwhelming relief. So he didn't need to disappear, after all. It would have been easy for the prince to not tell him any of this, to not bother getting involved. They had an ally here, perhaps. “I'll protect Lord Corrin with my life.”

Leo nodded. “That's the idea. Now we only need to wait on the King's verdict of him.”

Dismissed, Zero decided that the best place to wait would be Corrin's chambers. The vase that Felicia knocked over this morning had been replaced, filled with fresh flowers. Zero couldn't imagine where all these flowers were growing, in such abundance that they could be replaced every few days. Most of Windmire barely had weeds.

Midday came and passed. Felicia wandered in and out, offered him tea, almost knocked the new vase over as well. She didn't have any news. He didn't like this, having to wait around idly while his fate was decided elsewhere. It wouldn't be like this all the time, if they were prince and retainer, would it? He hoped not. But even so...they'd be together. That was the part to focus on.

Finally, the door swung open. Corrin's flustered smile spoke volumes, and Zero couldn't imagine how anyone would doubt his royal blood now. The way he'd been smartened up had added bearing and age to him, in a good way. A very good way.

“Zero! I'm sorry, I wanted to find you sooner, but once the audience finished Xander and the others were waiting, to celebrate me coming back into the family.”

“The King doesn't mind you being a bad little thief, then?”

“He – well, he's intimidating and stern, like they warned me. But he said that if I've survived on the streets, I must be capable. I just need appropriate training.”

“My, how generous. Almost like you were his own flesh and blood.” Though it's far more than Zero got from his own parents, whoever they were. “Well, if we're not going to be quietly disposed of in an unmarked grave, here's a proposition for you. Let's play a game of master and servant, you and me.”

“A game?”

“I've been informed that as a royal, you're in need of royal guards.”

“Oh. I suppose... Well, you're better than a guard already.”

“Glad that's settled, then. Feel free to backdate my wages seven years, if you'd like.”

 

* * *

 

As days and weeks passed, Corrin did find memories trickling back (though it felt like still more remained dammed up, a deep lake somewhere within him). Memories of Xander and Camilla, at least; he'd only met Leo a few times before disappearing, and Elise was a baby. All four siblings were different, and had their own duties to keep busy with, but they were all kind to him, didn't hesitate to make him feel included in their world. He couldn't have wished for better.

Xander helped with his sword practice, because royal children were expected to set examples of strength, to join war efforts against anyone who'd dare threaten their kingdom. Leo was horrified that he could only read at a basic level, and insisted on teaching him personally, even though there were a dozen tutors available. Camilla showed him etiquette, the type of behaviour expected from a prince, though she claimed he was already sweet enough to charm anyone. Elise, on the other hand, asked him to play games with her, liked singing and stories and was determined to make up for every minute they'd missed out on. Which wasn't technically _useful_ , but hard to complain about.

It wasn't all easy. Sometimes he studied every hour of the day, and dropped into bed exhausted. Sometimes stares followed him, snide comments made not-quite out of earshot from those in the castle who hadn't taken well to his arrival (Iago, the king's chief advisor and general, was one such man). But compared to life before, it was paradise. No matter how suddenly all of this had been thrust upon him, he wouldn't waver or seem ungrateful.

He learned the geography of their kingdom and surrounding countries, their history and politics. The right silverware to use at a banquet. Basics of battle strategy and commanding troops. How to ride a horse, how to swim a river, and to participate in a courtly dance without embarrassing himself. Since he was allowed to continue for month after month, reports going to the king must have been satisfactory.

Having a real family was exciting and wonderful, but he didn't want Zero to feel left behind. Zero wouldn't share his bed any more, claiming they were too old for that, and Corrin's hectic schedule would disturb his sleep. With the way Castle Krakenberg sunk into the earth, there was no chance to stargaze. Occasionally they'd share a meal in Corrin's quarters, but more often Corrin was called to eat with his siblings, in the private royal dining hall.

The king never ate with them, though empty chairs for a king and queen stood at the head of the table, and servants filled their plates with food. It was tradition, apparently, to set a place for every royal even if they weren't expected, because it would be an outrage if they arrived at the last minute and had to go hungry. Corrin didn't like that, watching as dishes of roasted meat sat cold, and fresh fruits in cream were disposed of untouched. He asked if they couldn't be given to the poor rather than wasted, and Camilla shook her head and called him a darling. Though the king was never here, he'd be angry if he found out.

No crimes to plan now, no unnecessary violence. As a prince of Nohr, he understood that he'd eventually be called to war – probably with Hoshido, the eastern place everyone spoke so darkly of – but that was different, wasn't it? That was to help the people of this country. Somehow.

He did enjoy the technical aspects of swordplay, exercising and testing his skills. There was a training hall for soldiers with rows of scarecrow-like dummies, archery targets, and duelling circles with sand covering the floor (which Zero cheerfully informed him was to soak up blood from any strikes that hit too close). Some of the soldiers were nervous about sparring against a prince, but it wasn't as if Corrin would get angry if they beat him. He needed to learn. He wanted to keep rising to everyone's expectations, sharing their goodwill.

Today, his sparring partner was a youngish soldier – still older than him – supposed to help practice guarding and footwork, with an instructor overseeing them both. At first it progressed well, until Corrin overheard a scrap of conversation, drifting from another part of the hall.

“Have you heard about the riots in the Greys? Food shortages again. They say people are so hungry, they're pulling houses apart to eat straw off the roofs.”

The Greys was the name of the slums that Corrin and Zero first lived in, with Bailey's gang. No fond memories there, but he knew how bad things were for the residents. The idea it had gotten worse was unsettling, pulling his thoughts elsewhere, making him forget his task.

A sharp crack; splintering pain in his left arm. Immediately the area around them broke into uproar, conversations ending, the instructor shouting and soldier spluttering apologies.

“I'm so sorry, milord! You were supposed to block that! I'm so sorry!” The man was white-faced, terrified, as if he expected the king himself to swoop down in retribution for harming his son.

Corrin forced himself to breathe through the pain. There was no blood – they weren't using edged weapons – but the angle of his arm looked wrong, and he didn't dare move it. When he gingerly flexed his fingers, they tingled oddly. The instructor called for a healer, then scolded onlookers back to their own work.

“It's all right,” Corrin mumbled, not wanting that soldier to get in trouble. “It was my fault for not paying attention.” Not like he'd never been wounded before. He just wasn't expecting it (and beneath the shock lay vague embarrassment). The instructor guided him over to a bench at the hall's edge, while they waited for a healer to arrive.

His arm throbbed in time with his pulse. He kept trying to focus on breathing. The hall smelled of oiled metal, new leather and sweat, a combination he'd come to think of as 'warrior' scents. He watched duelling partners edge around each other, watched arrows whip through the air towards dummies. So many soldiers, so much training. Such a drive to make people fight each other.

“Big brother!” Surprisingly, Elise made an appearance, a tiny figure in frilled petticoats weaving her way between armoured soldiers with utter confidence. “I heard you got hurt in a fight!”

“Yeah, but it's nothing serious.”

“Let me help? I'm learning healing spells, you know.” She beamed, looking so proud that he couldn't turn her down. A pause of deep concentration, a wash of butter-yellow light from her gesturing hands, and his arm felt...more or less the same.

He forced a smile, saying, “Wow, thanks Elise! I'm lucky you showed up. I'm going to keep resting a bit more though, okay? See you at dinner tonight.”

“Okay! See you later.” She grabbed him for a quick hug, and he winced when he was sure she couldn't see his face. As she skipped off, he heard Zero chuckling behind him. A low, rich, instantly recognisable sound.

“Zero, how long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see you lying to a little girl. How cruel, Lord Corrin.” He stepped into view, head tilted playfully and arms folded behind his back, boots scuffing stray grains of sand on the floor. He leaned down so that his face was level with Corrin's, still sitting on the bench.

“It's nice to encourage her. But, uh, you haven't seen a proper healer on their way yet, have you?”

“I'm afraid that's not my area. I just wanted to know if I should break anyone else's arm in retaliation.”

“...No, Zero. You don't need to break anyone else's anything.” He'd be concerned, if he didn't know it was an idle threat. Probably.

“Shame. Oh, that looks like a healer arriving now.”

Mercifully, this healer was more competent with their magic than a ten-year-old child, and soon Corrin's arm was almost good as new. To be safe, he was advised to rest for the remainder of the day, which gifted him a rare slice of free time. So, he and Zero decided to continue with their own project. It was technically educational, so they couldn't be accused of slacking off.

They tossed a nest of cushions in front of the fireplace, picked a book from the pile that Corrin was meant to study, and took turns to puzzle out each paragraph. Huddled close, with the excuse that it let them both see the pages (secretly taking the occasional deep breath, the scent of Zero's skin warm and intimate, far better than the training hall). Really, it was impressive that Zero had picked up reading so fast as he did. In the beginning, someone made a snide comment about him not being able to write his own name; Zero, of course, countered with a silly line about making people scream his name so they'd never forget. That didn't help.

Sometimes he played tricks, ignoring the text and inventing his own – usually dirtier – version of the story, to see if he got caught out. Sometimes, if Corrin was in a jovial mood, he'd counter nonsense with more nonsense, and they'd make it a game where the loser was the first one to laugh or run out of ideas.

“One of the most well-known figures from Cheve's nobility was Lady Alissa Trouvere, who frequently went naked horseback riding with her handmaidens.”

“Zero, that...wait. It actually does say that, doesn't it?”

“Shocking, the things you nobles get up to.”

“The House of Trouvere remained loyal to the crown throughout the rebellion of 1173, although rebels wiped out most of its figureheads,” Corrin continued, then paused. “Did you hear about riots in the Greys?”

“Sure did. Glad we're not stuck in the middle of that.”

“A lot of people are, though. There must be a way to help them.”

Zero pulled a sceptical face. “I don't see how. You don't have a lot of influence here, not yet.”

“We could do something, the two of us. Sneak out food to them, or...”

“Enough for hundreds? Don't get me wrong, Corrin, I know it's just like you to feel sorry for them. And I'm glad this new lifestyle hasn't changed that. But if you want to help others, you have to secure your own place first.”

“But that's–”

“Unsatisfying, I know. Look, even if we got cartloads of food from somewhere and sent it all up, would that solve people's problems? Or would it just delay things until tomorrow? Use your head, not your heart. Leave this to whoever the king has assigned to handle it. Otherwise you're behaving like you know better than everyone else, even though you've had less experience.”

“Yeah... I suppose that makes sense.” It wasn't the answer Corrin wanted, but he trusted Zero's judgement. Zero's view of the world was harsh, but he did indulge Corrin's gentler tendencies, when possible. When it wasn't possible, he said so, and Corrin accepted it. After the years they'd spent together, it was an established balance. “Do you wonder what Rhona's up to?”

“No,” Zero said, shortly.

“Never?”

“They made their choice, didn't they?”

Well, he couldn't argue with that, either. If they hadn't abandoned Zero, then Corrin would have helped all of them, either elevated them to service inside the castle or pardoned their crimes, whatever was allowed. He hadn't forgotten the better times they shared. How they'd taught himself and Zero new skills, helped them into a less perilous strata of life, spent cheerful evenings joking and playing cards in between robberies (all of them cheating besides Corrin, making it another layer of the game to try and catch each other out).

But they chose to cut ties. Rhona called Zero's loss 'collateral damage', and that was unforgivable.

Silence for a minute, the book forgotten. Corrin closed his eyes, Zero idly fidgeting with his hair, as if smoothing away the troubled thoughts.

“There's a fair chance they're dead, anyway. I told the Captain of the Guard our old haunts.”

Corrin sat up, breaking out of their comfortable lull. “What? Why would you–”

“Because otherwise they'd have brought out the really _special_ torture devices.”

“What?” Corrin repeated faintly.

“Oh, don't worry. They only hurt me a bit, in ways that wouldn't leave obvious marks. I was happy enough to talk.” Zero shrugged. “And if you're wondering why I didn't let you know at the time, what could you have done? Caused a scene, right after you'd been welcomed into the family? That wouldn't have helped either of us, and the Captain knew it.”

Corrin's stomach twisted, his heart wrenched, everything within him recoiling from the revelation. Zero's tone was so casual, as detached from his own pain as he was from the slum riots. It was wrong – wrong that it happened at all, wrong to be kept secret. “I'll cause a scene now, then! They can't do that!”

“What? No, Corrin. Corrin! Come here, sit back down.” Zero grabbed for Corrin as he tried to stand, pulling him back into the cushions with a feather-muffled thud. “Listen, if it was a weekly occurrence then I'd be complaining, but as a one-off, I don't care. I'm only telling you now to remind you what sort of place we're in. It's safer than where we came from, but it's not _safe._ All right?”

“It's not all right,” he said; Zero didn't reply. Corrin's eyes fell to the book, but the words tumbled together. He couldn't manage the concentration for studying histories. “Hey, can you have dinner with me today? I'll say I don't feel well enough to go eat with the family.” In a way, it was the truth.

“You know that'll bring your sisters fussing up here. _My poor, sweet Corrin_...” Zero crooned, in imitation of Camilla.

“Ha, well I can't exactly help that.” Corrin offered a faint smile.

“Of course you could. But I suppose you wouldn't.” And now, all of a sudden, there actually was tension in Zero's voice, although the topic had shifted to a less unpleasant matter. A touch of coldness in his face, his grip on Corrin loosening. “Don't worry about me. Go eat with your family, like you always do. Lady Elise is expecting you.”

“Zero, what's the matter?” Corrin watched, perplexed, as Zero stood up and straightened his clothes, making ready to leave.

“I was in the training hall for my own practice, as a retainer. I only followed you to make sure you were okay. But since there's plenty of others who can fill that role, I'd best go back before I get yelled at.”

“Ah, sorry. You shouldn't get into trouble on my account.” Though it sounded reasonable enough, the way Zero said it was just...off. Corrin didn't understand. If Zero wanted to go, he supposed it was best to let him, but it wasn't the friendly farewell it should have been.

Left alone in his nest of pillows and books, he wondered if he'd done something wrong.

In days to come, the conversation would continue to haunt him, thinking of the Greys and the Captain of the Guard – but rather than sinking into depression it became another source of motivation. It was like Zero said: he needed to secure his place, gain influence, the power to make things happen. If one thing would drive him onwards, it was the idea that someday they'd have both have a life of peace and safety. And be able to spread that around for others, too.

He hadn't asked to be part of this new world, hadn't dreamed of it, but since it happened anyway, Corrin was determined to make it count.

 

* * *

 

“Lady Camilla, what a charming location,” Niles remarked, stepping into the gazebo. "Why, you could get up to all sorts of mischief here, away from prying eyes." It was tucked in a corner of the castle gardens he'd never explored, with a riot of chocolate-coloured roses winding around the pillars. How they managed to grow such lush plants down here in the gloom, he still had no idea.

“Zero. Please, have a seat.” Camilla indicated a chair across from her. A table stood laden with tea and latticed fruit tarts, filled with currants so dark their purple was almost black (the same hue as Camilla's gown). Zero didn't particularly want to bring himself into such a dainty scene, but saw no alternative.

“All right. Your summons piqued my curiosity. So, what can I do to bring you pleasure?”

She didn't blink at his phrasing. “It's about Corrin. I've missed so much of his childhood, and I admit, I'm jealous of your close bond with him. I was hoping you'd be able to help me.”

“Oh, you'd like me to fill you in? Certainly. Though as I'm sure you can imagine, there are few happy memories from our early years to tell you about. And some I wouldn't share without his permission.” And others he wouldn't share, even if Corrin _did_ grant permission. If Zero were alone in the world, with only his own history to carry, then it wouldn't matter, but he refused to tell stories that might make Corrin sound weak or pitiable – or the reverse, make him sound like a criminal, ruin his already doubtful reputation. These cosseted nobles would never understand what it was like out there. They had no right to judge.

Camilla claimed to be on Corrin's side, and so far she'd proven true. Still, there were rumours of past conflicts between King Garon's concubines and elder children. He'd sired an impressive number, perhaps too many, and several were conspicuously absent from court and general conversation, from the memories of any staff who'd worked in the castle for less than a decade. Princess Rosalind, Prince Cedric, Princess Azura.

“Something simple to begin with, then? What's Corrin's favourite food?”

Zero almost laughed; that was far easier a question than he'd anticipated. “Anything here is heavenly, compared to what we used to survive on. He does have a sweet tooth, though. Surely you could ask him trivial details like that yourself, milady?”

Camilla shook her head. “As his older sister, I should already know all the trivial details, without him reminding me. That's why I wanted to find out another way. It might seem strange to you, but...”

“Well, I don't particularly mind. But if you have more questions about favourite things, let me save time and simply say that beggars can't be choosers.”

Camilla actually looked distressed, a subtle purse of the mouth and tension at her brows, and Zero felt pleased with himself. It was a nice surprise to upset someone when he wasn't even trying, someone casually flaunting privilege in his face, summoning him to sit here amongst blooming roses and painted teacups and think about how he used to starve. Maybe _she_ didn't see it that way, but that's how it was.

She sighed. “Perhaps you're right, and I should be talking to Corrin himself. But when we're together all I want to do is spoil him, not make him remember terrible times.”

Ah, that made sense. So it was fine asking Zero to remember, but not Corrin. Because Zero was only a servant, of course. “There's no need to treat him so delicately. Be honest, and he'll like you more for it. He doesn't break easily.”

“What an odd thing for a retainer to say.”

“I'm a rather odd retainer, I guess.”

“Indeed. There are some in the court who think you're a bad influence on him.” Camilla glanced aside with a neutral expression, making it unclear if she agreed with that or not.

“Besides keeping him alive and well, my job is also to influence him? Pardon me, milady, I wasn't aware of that,” he said, with an insincerity that didn't _quite_ step into blatant sarcasm. Corrin had a unique sense of self that nobody in the world could steer off course. Anyone who'd spent more than a day in his company should be able to recognise that.

To her credit, she let that one slide, as well. “...Well, this conversation hasn't been what I hoped for, but I feel a little enlightened, all the same. You may go, Zero.”

He bowed, and gladly left (with one of those fruit tarts in his pocket, because old habits died hard). They were already drawing Corrin away from him, day by day. He didn't want to make it any easier.

He knew Corrin's schedule for this afternoon: piano practice followed by literature, then war history, and sword drills to finish. A balanced curriculum, except everyone knew the results of the second two subjects would be weighed more carefully than the first two. Zero might be an outsider, but he wasn't slow to figure out the political currents and unspoken rules here.

After all that, Corrin wouldn't have time to do more than bathe, eat, then sleep. No time for his dear old childhood friend – not that Zero was bitter. Well, not enough to do anything about it, and either way, he knew it wasn't Corrin's fault. If a prince were skipping lessons in favour of playing around, that would be more of a concern. Somebody or other would be delighted to sneak off to the king with tales of his wrongdoing.

Zero missed him, though. Missed being the only one he looked up to, who looked out for him. Missed how they'd sleep huddled with a single blanket, under the stars. But he was right when he said they were too old for that. Two Corrins existed in Zero's mind now, overlapping: the kid who followed him around, and the young man who was learning to lead. One he'd turned away by challenging with drunken handstands, and the other...he wasn't sure he could turn away, at all.

He hadn't bothered with anyone else, since entering the castle. There was no shortage of good-looking maids or guards who'd happily bend over a barrel for him, if he switched on the charm instead of antagonising them, but he didn't want to see that reproachful look on Corrin's face any more, knowing what it really meant. Which made no sense, since Zero's jealousy now was worse than Corrin's had ever been (with far more solid a foundation in reality). It was natural to strike back at anything that hurt him, to delight in vengeance, not restrain himself and take the high road like this. Still, he didn't want to see that look on Corrin's face.

If Corrin even thought of him like that, now so much else had changed. Now his attentions and affections were demanded by others, as they moulded him to claim his birthright, to fit in with all of their own aspirations. The king was a seemingly uncaring father, but the brothers and sisters compensated, fussing around Corrin, giving him advice, support, gifts, whisking him away for lavish lunches or theatre trips, or galloping their hoses through parkland. Offering everything Zero ever had, and more. Getting the same smiles that were only aimed at Zero, before. Slowly erasing him, less dramatic than if they'd kicked him out of the castle doors, but poisonously effective. At present he could still call Corrin a friend, but give it a few months, a year perhaps, and he could likely vanish without anyone realising what was gone.

Clever, if it was intentional. Even if it wasn't, the result would be the same. He'd been a fool to think they had some special, unbreakable bond. There wasn't a thing in this wretched world that couldn't break apart, if only you found the right weapons.

Those were the thoughts that ate into him, during increasingly solitary days. And when the moon rose, the nightmares came.

He recalled having them often, when he was younger. As if waking hours weren't difficult enough, his subconscious needed to get an extra dig in, conjure another set of monsters. He had an image of waking up, crying, and hitting Corrin for trying to comfort him, but wasn't certain if that ever really happened, or if it was just the sort of thing he'd have done back then, lashing out because someone saw his weakness. As he grew older, the nightmares faded, and he assumed that was a mark of his own maturity.

It was annoying to realise the truth might be more sentimental. He slept peacefully because that cute, clueless kid's presence soothed him.

Deprived of that, the quality of his sleep declined. The quarters he'd been assigned were comfortable enough, although several steps below Corrin's. The bed had clean linens and soft pillows, and there was a sturdy lock on the door. The chest for personal effects was empty aside from changes of clothes, because what did he have that belonged only to him? Nothing, not any longer. The lamp on his bedside table was always refilled before it ran out of oil. Not all types of darkness could be burned away so easily.

When sleep betrayed him, he took to wandering the castle's halls instead. Anyone unlucky enough to cross paths got a selection of his nastiest barbs, to send them scurrying away. In front of the royals he'd play nice, but everyone else? Well, he was a glorified bodyguard, wasn't he? His purpose was to kill whoever threatened his liege. A shady reputation wouldn't impair that.

He stalked along the grand gallery, where huge oil paintings of Corrin's ancestors glared down (there were already plans to commission one of Corrin himself, on his next birthday). Past an excessive number of parlours, drawing rooms, and other rooms which seemed to have no purpose besides being filled with expensive, dust-collecting things. Into the library, because the narrow, ceiling-high shelves reminded him of alleys, and the slums might have been terrible but at least they were familiar, every danger something he'd learned how to deal with.

He spied a stray light, a single lamp upon a table, and a reader slumped over their book, asleep. At first he assumed it was Prince Leo, and almost turned away, because of all the royal siblings Leo was the one who irritated him least.

Then he realised it was Corrin. Corrin, who should know better, slumbering innocently in the open where any ill-wisher could strike. Already in a foul mood, Zero decided that level of carelessness deserved a reprimand, not a gentle awakening.

He crept behind Corrin, then swiftly grabbed him, one hand clamping over his mouth and the other circling tight around his neck, dragging him upwards from the chair. Corrin jerked awake, kicking out in panic. He made a helpless, scrabbling attempt to prise away the arm at his neck – then reached back, for an uncharacteristically vicious grab at Zero's crotch.

Zero yelped, letting go. Corrin's elbow dug into his ribs, shoving him away.

Corrin spun to face his attacker, then froze in recognition. “Zero? ...I'm sorry! Are you okay?”

Zero chuckled hoarsely through the pain. “I'll live.”

“What on earth were you doing?”

“You dozed off in vulnerable place, so I thought I'd teach you a lesson. Looks like it backfired, though. Where'd you learn to play so rough?”

“That's one of your moves,” Corrin said, sheepish. Well sure, Zero didn't think of it as 'his move', but it was definitely the sort of dirty tactic he'd used in brawls before. He wasn't the type who'd rather die with honour.

“Ha, guess I just tasted my own medicine then. Shall I escort you back to your chambers, milord, or are you happy to stay here and simply manhandle anyone who disturbs your rest?”

“Er, let's go to my chambers.” Corrin snuffed out the lamp, closed the book and led the way. Zero followed, limping slightly.

They didn't need light to navigate the halls, used to working without. It was second nature to freeze every time they heard voices or glimpsed a guard on patrol, and when they managed to reach Corrin's rooms unseen, Zero felt an odd sense of accomplished nostalgia. Honestly, he was impressed that Corrin countered his attack so well. He should know better than anyone, Corrin's kindness didn't equate to weakness.

Untended embers glowed inside that ridiculous, ornate fireplace in Corrin's bedroom, although it wasn't especially cold. He set the book down, sighed, then turned to face Zero.

“Are you sure you're okay? You startled me pretty badly.”

Zero pulled his shirt up to show the bruise forming under his ribcage. “Could be worse. You could have gone dragon on me.”

Corrin touched the bruise's edge gently, in apology, but didn't speak. Warm fingertips against naked skin, a beguiling, magnetic warmth. Zero's pulse quickened; no part of his mind saw Corrin as that child from the past, not right now.

“What, want to kiss it better?” he asked, meaning it as a joke, something to diffuse the tension, to make Corrin step back in embarrassment. It didn't quite work that way.

“Yeah,” Corrin said, so softly it was more breath than sound.

It was a kiss unlike all others. Zero's fingers tangled in Corrin's hair – the beautiful, champagne-coloured hair that even royal barbers couldn't stop from curling out at wild angles – and Corrin's arms wrapped around him, passionately rushed, yet gentle. 'Gentle' wasn't normally in Zero's vocabulary, but with Corrin, everything changed. He'd already known it would, every time he thought about this. It had felt shameful, how often he'd thought about this. Loneliness, jealousy, lust, twisting together and strangling him, but he couldn't stop.

Corrin began to slip his clothes off with shy, inexperienced hands, and it was more thrilling than with anyone else Zero had known. Corrin climbed on top of him, on the bed, and it should have been unacceptable to let another person have a semblance of control, should have killed Zero's desire stone dead, but instead all he wanted was to pull Corrin closer. This was the only person it was okay to trust like this. Even if he'd be left behind soon, reduced to a memory, once would be better than never.

He was still tender from the library fight, though; they'd both forgotten that, until Corrin made a bold move and pushed their hips together, pressure in exactly the wrong place. Zero couldn't help a grimace of discomfort, no matter how willing he was in spirit, grabbing at Corrin's arms to make him stop.

The look on Corrin's face was confused, then stricken, like taking a personal rejection. Before there was a chance to correct that, he sat up, awkwardly putting distance between them, all sense of harmony lost. “You... You don't like me as much any more, do you?”

“What?”

“Something's troubling you lately, but you won't talk about it. You're less patient. You grabbed me around the neck to wake me up...” Corrin continued, and Zero felt a stab of guilt, realising maybe that wasn't okay. “At first I thought you'd adapted well to being here, but now I think that was putting a brave face on, the way you always do. I don't know if you really like it. Or me, now I'm a prince. When we used to rob noble houses, you acted like you hated them all, and I'm...” He gestured to himself, the exquisitely tailored shirt hanging off one shoulder, pearl buttons undone, swirls of embroidery in silver thread. The type of garment Zero would have gleefully cut to shreds, back then.  
  
“Corrin.” He struggled to process that barrage, make sense, find where it fit alongside his own chaotic feelings. “No,” he managed, swallowing against the catch in his throat. He sat up too, reached out, cupping the back of Corrin's head to bring them closer, foreheads pressed carefully together, action in place of speech. Corrin didn't meet his gaze so readily as usual, pale lashes shielding eyes turned a dark, bloody red by the low firelight.  
  
On Corrin, the fancy clothes looked perfect. Rags or jewels, it didn't matter. However they spoiled him, he wasn't raised here, he'd never be one of _them_ in the way Zero despised. That had _never_ been the issue.  
  
“I still love you the most, you know.” The sadness in Corrin's whisper was unbearable. To do anything but kiss him, gather that love in and cling to it, would have been unbearable.  
  
Afterwards they lay facing each other, just like old times and yet completely different. Zero felt he should make some witty comment to downplay the moment, step free of its gravity, but for once he couldn't think of a single thing. He couldn't get over the way Corrin looked at him, quiet and adoring, lips curled in a subtle, resting smile. This was the only person who'd look at him that way. And he was the only person who'd get such a look from Corrin, exactly like this, in these sweet circumstances. This was all he needed.  
  
Pragmatism broke the mood a little when Zero insisted they get cleaned up and dressed, to stop that scatterbrained maid having a heart attack when she arrived with Corrin's breakfast tomorrow morning. He didn't go back to his own quarters, though. It was enough to cosy up on the bed again, leave a book open beside them, and pretend they fell asleep while trying to get some extra studying in. A white lie for the rest of the world, and a secret just for them.


	4. Chapter 4

It would be false to say that Corrin couldn't remember a time before he loved Zero. Those memories weren't clear or abundant, however. It was fair to say that. So ending up in a place like this felt inevitable, like they were always destined for it.

The pattern of their days began to change, sneaking tender moments with each other. Corrin wasn't sure what the official stance on sleeping with retainers was, though he'd heard the king had a lot of mistresses, and not all were of noble birth (which explained why he and his siblings had different mothers). Even if nobody minded, keeping a secret was fun for the time being. Catching a sly glance from Zero while other people were around, and feeling a spark of heat, imagining what they'd do later on.

He and Zero weren't always on the same page about things. But on this, he was certain they were. Even if it had taken longer than it should to realise it.

Other changes were afoot, not in the private landscape of Corrin's heart but the greater world of the castle, and beyond. He'd been deemed fit to carry out small missions on behalf of the crown, such as guarding supply carts or chasing off poachers. Making himself useful, demonstrating what he'd learned. The royal line of Nohr, he was told, did not sit idle in defence of what was theirs, relying on lackeys and underlings to enforce their laws. Royals of Nohr took matters into their own hands, used their strength to impress obedience upon the people. That had always been their way.

Explained like that, Corrin saw the sense in it. Being out amongst the people was better than staying distant and uninvolved, wasn't it? He'd be happy to take an active role in making the kingdom safe.

Zero rolled his eye, said it was just a way to keep young royals busy and battle-ready, and weed out weaker princes and princesses. And okay, perhaps that's how some would see it. Corrin chose to be less cynical, though.

His first mission was a cooperative venture, assisting Camilla. The carriage of an influential merchant family had been attacked, on a road not far from the capital - apparently it was a notorious route, surrounded by shadowy forests that were perfect for staging an ambush. The merchants petitioned for justice, claiming their sources had found the bandits' lair but they lacked the soldiers to take action. So the royals would intervene, and make an example of whoever they caught. It shouldn't be too risky, not for a pair of bright, rigorously-trained warriors with the Dusk Dragon's blood in their veins.

“Don't trouble yourself too much, Corrin,” Camilla said, once she'd finished cooing over how handsome he looked in his armour (while Zero, in the background, smirked and raised his eyebrows to signal agreement). “Let us make the main assault, while you watch how it's done, and keep an eye out for reinforcements.”

“Camilla! I can be more useful than that.”

“I'm sure you can, but for now humour me? Before long you'll be doing this all alone.”

“Don't worry, Lord Corrin,” piped up one of Camilla's retainers. Francise, the sorceress, fidgeted with her tome, while her partner Yara stood further back, leaning on her spear. “Really, Lady Camilla could tackle this single-handed, she doesn't even need us!”

“My, aren't you sweet. But you know I wouldn't be without you.” Camilla beamed, and Francise beamed back. From what Corrin had gathered, Francise wasn't popular in the castle, because she always made dramatic, flattering statements to her liege that came across as fawning. Corrin didn't think so; to him it sounded like genuine admiration, awkwardly expressed.

“All right, let's begin. Corrin darling, wait here for a few minutes, then follow at your own pace.” She paused to brush imaginary dust off Corrin's shoulder, a final small gesture of care, then turned to her patiently waiting wyvern.

Camilla's retainers gave faint, formal smiles in farewell, before moving out. The terrain quickly devoured them, stunted trees and brambles combining to form silhouettes like snarling, sharp-toothed mouths. Camilla's wyvern beat its oil-dark wings and took to the air, ready to scout their prey.

Corrin sighed, looking from Zero to Felicia. “Who's betting that by the time we get there, the fighting will all be over?”

“Feeling bloodthirsty today, milord?” Zero asked, idly pulling an arrow from his quiver and spinning it between his fingers.

“I'd just like to do my part,” Corrin replied, in long-established habit of giving a serious answer even though he knew it wasn't a serious question.

“Think we should follow now, rather than waiting?”

“Yeah. Standing around like this, we may as well not be here. Let's go. Felicia?”

“O-of course, milord!” She fell into step behind them, gathering her skirts close to avoid ripping them on the brambles.

They crept along in the same direction as Camilla's retainers. Thin branches scrabbled at their arms, leaves cold and damp although there'd been no rain that day. Corrin couldn't place the unsettling sense of deja vu he felt. He was out of his element here – he'd been raised in the city, not the wilderness – but just as he began to doubt their course, a wyvern's screech split the air.

“There!” He pointed, though it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. They picked up their pace, pushing the last shreds of caution aside.

The treeline broke, revealing a slope down to a grey, gravel-pocked plain, with a single tall rock that could almost be mistaken for a man-made tower. In the rock's shadow, Camilla and her retainers stood at the remains of a campsite. Abandoned tent poles and leather awnings, charred circles where fires had lain, a meagre scattering of domestic objects left in the dirt. The wyvern, grounded, gave an irritable shake of its head, as if realising it had been cheated out of a battle. There were no other people in sight.

Had the bandits already fled? Was this camp even theirs, after all? Maybe there'd been a mistake in the information they were given. Corrin's shoulders slumped, tension ebbing. What an anticlimactic discovery.

Francise's body gave a sudden, sharp jerk, then fell limply to the ground.

Camilla and Yara whirled around, looking for the attacker. The wyvern screamed, thrashing its wings, and a flicker of motion in the air resolved into an arrow. Another struck it, and another. Corrin's gaze flashed to the top of that towering rock, where a pair of archers now stood. With dawning horror, he realised his sister had walked into an ambush.

“Quick, we have to help!”

He charged out of the trees, half-running and half-skidding down the slope, retainers at his heels. Camilla was trying to drag Francise to shelter, while Yara shielded her liege, spear useless against such distant foes.

An arrow hissed past Corrin's face, from a different direction. He sprang back, heart stuttering. More bandits emerged from the trees; their hiding place must have been close to where Corrin passed through, but they'd waited for this moment to strike, to launch their own stage of the ambush. He counted three, one with a bow and two with blades.

“Felicia, with me! Zero, help Camilla!” He barely had time to think before giving orders, drawing his sword to meet the new threat. Zero was the only one with a chance of taking out those enemies on the rock. They'd targeted the sorceress and wyvern first deliberately, wiping out the threat of long-range spells and aerial attacks. Those ideas flitted through Corrin's head with a clarity that would have surprised him, if he'd been able to pause and consider it.

He raced towards the forest archer, trying to reach them before they had time to fire again. They set an arrow to their bowstring, but never loosed it, Felicia's thrown daggers finding them first. Corrin closed on the next bandit, sword clashing against sword. Strike, parry, just like his training (and he tried to ignore the sour feeling in his stomach, that stopped him from pretending this simply was training).

His opponent was bigger, muscles bunched under ragged sleeves. Corrin was lighter on his feet, dancing clear of blows that would have knocked him flying, keeping the third bandit in his sights too, and himself between both of them and Felicia. He dived inside one man's guard, slashed deep across the side, instantly twisted away to avoid an attack from the other.

Seeing both his allies fall, the final bandit roared – a raw, desperate noise – then charged Corrin recklessly, all or nothing. That made it easy to finish him.

Breathing heavily, Corrin looked down at the three corpses in a momentary daze. The archer's mouth had been bloodily shattered by Felicia's dagger, and another man's torso was torn open deep enough to view the wet shapes of organs. _He'd_ done that. He'd seen corpses before on the streets of Windmire, murders and executions alike, but these...

“Milord!” Felicia pulled him back to the present, and he looked to his other comrades.

Camilla and Yara had taken shelter beneath an overhang at the rock's base, barely enough to stop the archers hitting them. They were trapped. One step out, and – wait, was only a single archer up there now? Hadn't there been two?

Not far away, the missing archer lay in a fractured mess on the ground, Zero's arrow buried in their stomach. If that hadn't killed them, the fall certainly did (and later, someone would observe that the archers were wearing grey cloaks, blending with the colour of the rock, to stop Camilla spying them when her wyvern flew overhead – a fatally clever detail).

Zero himself stood a good distance from the rock. A few paces forward of him, enemy arrows were buried in the ground, marking failed attempts on his life. It was easy to tell the difference, since their fletching was the patchy brown of wild birds; royal soldiers used arrows fletched with pure black feathers.

“Lord Corrin, it appears we're at a stalemate. I got the first, but now his friend is on guard, watching me. We're just out of range from each other's bows. If I move forward I'll be able to hit him, but at the same time he'll hit me. We need something to distract him, or we could be sitting here all day.”

“Something to distract him?” Corrin repeated, casting around for possibilities. Dry, featureless ground, the campsite's ruins, the wyvern lying slumped and drawing pained breaths. Camilla's pale face, beneath the rock. Francise's head lay cradled in her lap. He could try talking to the bandit, but couldn't truthfully strike a bargain and offer mercy, not after all this. How had they even known to wait in ambush, at this precise time? Had someone betrayed the crowns' plans?

He saw Yara speaking to Camilla, their words too quiet to carry the distance. Camilla looked startled, grasping for her hand. The retainer brushed her off, then stepped forward, out of their shelter. Corrin didn't understand her plan, until he watched her begin: in a fluid chain of motion, she spun to look up at the archer, levelled her spear, and hurled it straight at him.

It barely reached halfway up, a heavy weapon not made for throwing. But as it smashed against the rock's surface, the archer flinched, and his attention left Zero.

Zero saw the opportunity, rushed forward and fired, three precise shots. The archer crumpled, then toppled down. Corrin gasped, feeling such a sense of relief that he almost forgot to be sorry for the death, hope surging that this conflict was nearly over.

Then he glanced to Yara, and that hope was crushed. Blood glistened bright on her scalp, struck by a fallen chunk of rock that her own spear dislodged.

 

* * *

 

“That's what it means to be a retainer,” Zero said for the seventh time, because he didn't have any better arguments, really.

Despite the losses, their mission had been deemed a success. The bandits were defeated, after all. Merchants would continue bringing their goods into Windmire. King Garon didn't care if a couple of low-born retainers died, because there were plenty of others who'd eagerly fill the role, who'd be equally useful.

King Garon hadn't seen Camilla shrieking and weeping in Corrin's arms, but frankly, they all knew it would make no difference if he had. Now she drifted around the castle in thinly-veiled hysteria, sometimes locking herself in her rooms and refusing to see anyone, and the next day bursting out in forced cheerfulness, sweeping her siblings off for extravagant outings, buying armfuls of dresses for Elise and harassing Leo with plates of patisserie sweets. None of them could do anything but indulge her.

“That's what it means,” Zero repeated, when they were lounging in Corrin's bed, when Corrin laid his head on Zero' chest and gloomily declared that he didn't know what he'd do, in Camilla's place. “We're supposed to give our life for our liege. Those women knew that. I knew, before I signed up.”

“I don't want you to give your life for me.” A pause, and then Corrin lifted his head to look into Zero's eye. “Maybe you shouldn't be my retainer, after all.”

“Oh, come on. You think I only feel that way because of a contract?” He pressed a kiss to Corrin's forehead, to emphasise the point. It already felt so natural, making gestures like that, as if it could be perfect without any amount of practise. The more excuses to enjoy Corrin's warmth, the better, and each time pushed back the memory of how he'd feared it was slipping away from him. That felt like a whole different world, now.

Danger was ever-present in their lives; they'd often seen others fall, and thought _that could have been you or me._ Corrin was distressed on behalf of his sister, but he wouldn't seriously dismiss Zero as a retainer, in some misguided effort to protect him. He knew they were better together.

“Still, I don't like what happened.” Corrin was insistent. “What if that had been the gang we joined, instead of Rhona's? We're on the other side of the struggle now, but nobody's in the right. It's wrong to hoard things that other people need, like nobles do, and it's wrong to take them by force, like thieves do. I can't be the only one to see it. There must be another way forward.”

“Corrin...”

“I want to speak with the King about it all.”

“If you have to speak with someone higher up, make it your brother. He might at least let you finish a sentence or two.”

Corrin sighed unhappily, but didn't contest. He rolled aside, staring up at the bed's canopy, then covered his face with his hands in a gesture of frustration. Probably he worried more about issues like this than the castle administrators charged to manage them (whoever those people actually were). Probably it was a habit he'd never outgrow.

“Do I get to stay as your retainer, then?” Zero ventured, trying to steer the conversation somewhere brighter. “If I didn't have duties to keep me out of trouble, whatever would I do? Just lounge around your chambers all day, keeping myself pretty, waiting for milord to bring me gifts? ...Well, that might not be a bad life.” He twirled a lock of hair around his finger, the way a coquettish maiden might.

Corrin uncovered his face, gave Zero a long stare across the pillows, and couldn't help cracking a smile at his absurdity. Encouraged, Zero tumbled them over, hands finding well-known ticklish spots to make Corrin yelp in laughter. And that was the end of depressing thoughts, for a while.

A week later, the assassin struck.

Zero's initial impressions were hasty and unclear. A midnight disturbance in the royal wing, retainers hauled from their beds by torchlight and ordered to their lieges' sides with a sense of alarm (and fortunately, on that occasion, Zero was in his own bed and not Corrin's, so their secret wasn't revealed at an already-bad moment). He dashed through the halls to find Corrin barely awake and still in his nightclothes, unharmed, with no clue what all the fuss was about. It wasn't until daybreak that anyone pieced things together.

The assassin was hired by someone with a grudge against the royals, to take advantage of Camilla's delicate moods and lack of protection. Things hadn't gone quite as planned. The assassin – barely more than a girl, people were saying – had failed her mission, and instead been recruited as the princess' new retainer. Offered responsibility in place of punishment. Whether she'd sold out her previous employer wasn't mentioned, but no doubt it would be expected, with arrests and merciless executions to follow (Zero hadn't forgotten his own interrogation by the Captain of the Guard, though he never did hear for certain whether the old gang were killed or escaped).

Camilla herself, in the wake of all this, seemed incredibly calm, in complete contrast to how she'd acted before. If anyone questioned her decision, it happened behind closed doors, away from Zero's view; if anyone asked her to change her mind, she ignored them. The assassin, Beruka, was here to stay.

Altogether a bizarre story, but it wasn't much stranger than how Corrin and Zero came to the palace, was it? At least Zero was no longer the shadiest servant on the royal payroll. Still, it revealed an undercurrent of instability in the palace, in the royals themselves, that didn't fill him with confidence.

Maybe Corrin was right, to keep worrying about whose hands were guiding this kingdom.

 

* * *

 

The Festival of Burning Moons would be a very different affair this year. A masquerade ball in the palace at Macarath, with nobility from all over Nohr (plus a few brave foreign dignitaries). Corrin hadn't attended the previous one, told he wasn't yet prepared for an event of that scale, and he trusted his family's judgement. He was excited for this, though.

He finished adjusting his costume in front of the mirror: he'd picked the design of a toy soldier, the wooden ones painted with bright, old-fashioned uniforms. Red jacket with gold trim, white breeches and gloves, gleaming black boots, finished with a false sabre. Bringing a real weapon to a party wouldn't be good manners. There was a list of other things he'd been told, peculiarities which were good or bad manners when talking, dancing, drinking or simply passing through doorways at events with this level of formality. He was sure it'd be okay, in any case. He smiled at his reflection.

A rapping knock at the door, too loud to be a servant.

“Come in,” he called, and turned to greet Xander. His elder brother was decked out like a splendid pirate captain, with a tricorne hat sporting purple feathers. It looked nicer than the crown he usually wore, less bleakly imposing.

“Ready to go, little prince?” he asked. Corrin gave a salute in response, prompting a chuckle from him. “You might feel slightly out of place, since many people here are old acquaintances, and you'll be introduced to some of them for the first time. But if you're overwhelmed, we'll be close at hand.”

“Thank you. I'm not worried, though.” Corrin paused. It was rare, this opportunity to speak with Xander alone without servants, courtiers or retainers bustling in the background, so he decided to take it. “Do you think there'll be anyone there who knew my mother?”

Xander's expression turned grave, though not unkind. “We've discussed this before, Corrin. You understand there were difficulties with some of Father's past mistresses, which makes people uneasy speaking of them. Not a good topic to bring up at a party.”

“Yes, but even if they won't speak of it... Is there anyone who'd _know?_ ”

Xander was saved from answering by the arrival of the others: Camilla and Elise matching as a witch and black cat, Leo making a token effort as a vampire, although most of his outfit looked like things pulled from his everyday closet. He kept adjusting the collar of his cloak with a grumpy, self-conscious look.

Together the five of them swept along to Macarath's grand ballroom. It was a dazzling display, chandeliers glittering with enchanted flame and crystal, music and laughter ringing to the frescoe-covered ceiling, graceful servants offering silver trays of food and wine. Costumes of silk and lace, brocade and feathers and gemstones. A steward announced their names, and the crowd parted to give them a clear path, as they approached the dais where their father sat.

King Garon himself didn't appear to be in costume, though Iago, standing at his shoulder, wore a sinister ensemble with a sharp crow's beak of a mask. After formal exchanges of greeting between host and heirs, he waved them away, disinterested. It was required that the king be here, Corrin supposed, even if he didn't personally enjoy parties like this. A shame he couldn't lighten up for a special occasion.

That left the five free to mingle. Some of their retainers were here, Zero included, but they'd stick to the shadows unless trouble broke out, inconspicuous at the party's edges. Corrin tried to spot him amongst the mass of strangers, but couldn't. Still, good to know he was around.

To begin with he let Xander guide him, making introductions, before a young noblewoman asked for a dance (she wore a mask shaped like a butterfly, with wings in stained-glass colours). They chatted for a while, went their separate ways, and he sampled some food from the trays, a glass of wine. Glazed pastries, bite-sized cakes and candied fruits vied for attention with exotic vintages and cocktails. The kitchens must have been in meltdown to produce all this; he hoped someone had thanked them for their hard work.

Another dance with a different girl, and then Camilla had people she wanted him to meet. Another dance, with a young man this time, and an invitation to join his friends in one of the lounge rooms later, where they planned to play cards and tell ghost stories. Corrin wondered if the stories told in palaces were different to those he knew, from the slums. Well, maybe he'd find out. This all seemed to be going nicely, so far.

Finding himself at a loose end, he chose to approach the nearest group of people, around his own age. Sons and daughters of generals or duchesses, most likely. It didn't seem like a bad idea, until one of them said, just loud enough for him to hear, “Oh, it's the beggar prince?”

All their gazes fell upon him, not openly hostile but certainly not welcoming. Corrin felt a jolt of tension. He'd been aware that a few people pinned that nickname to him, people like Iago who resented his sudden rise to court, but nobody had used it to his face before. This was a test, then, to see how he reacted? To see if they could get away with mocking him, without consequences. If he was a weak link in the family.

On the streets, Zero had normally shielded him from confrontations, spitting threats and lewd, smirking suggestions until the bullies slunk off, realising they'd picked a bad target. That wasn't Corrin's style, of course, but it gave him an idea of how to act. He'd prefer to befriend people, but if they wanted to push him instead, then he could push back. If that's what he was supposed to do.

So in a pleasant tone, he replied, “Beggar? That isn't very accurate. I was more of a thief, you know. I used to break into wealthy households, while the masters were sound asleep. So if you plan to keep insulting me, then post extra guards around your chamber tonight, okay?”

He didn't enjoy saying that. It didn't feel like the real him, but had the intended effect. The man who'd spoken cleared his throat, and took back his jibe with an excuse about how he'd only heard other people use the nickname before. Which was probably a lie, but that was fine.

 

* * *

 

At the edge of the room, Zero observed Corrin's progress. He'd unintentionally taken the same route as Xander, dressing up as a pirate, but personally felt that having an eyepatch gave him more of a claim to the role. His gold jewellery was genuinely stolen, and the scars on his mostly-bared chest were equally genuine. Well, it didn't matter much, since nobody was meant to be looking at him.

He noted a few other retainers, too: Odin, that rambunctious man newly-employed by Leo, was dressed as some confusing demonic beast, while Elise's Harold was a wholesome fairytale woodsman, the type who'd find an abandoned child in the forest and raise it as his own. He'd probably lead the youngest princess away before long. This did seem quite a grown-up type of party.

As for Corrin, that costume suited him perfectly. A toy soldier, another fairytale staple, that might come to life at night and leap out of the toybox for adventures. Just the right sort of innocent charm, but dashing at the same time, telling people that he could fight and conquer.

Watching him dance with different people, Zero tried not to be jealous. Dancing didn't mean anything. It wasn't as if Corrin could refuse them all and lead Zero onto the ballroom floor instead, snubbing important peoples' eligible progeny. Affairs with servants were fine behind closed doors, but it wouldn't do to make a _scene_ of it.

He saw Corrin square off with a group of young nobles, too far away to hear their words, but not reading anything positive in their body language. Corrin seemed to handle it though, diffused whatever tension they'd created, then spoke cordially for a few minutes before heading elsewhere. One of the girls from the group chased after him, asked him to dance, even as her friends made subtle beckoning motions for her to come back. Another heart won, it seemed. Add it to the pile.

Finally, Corrin headed through a set of great glass doors, connecting the ballroom to a veranda. Zero followed. Outside, rows of torches kept the night at bay, allowing guests to stroll and take fresh air without tripping over their cloaks and skirts. Overhead, stars weren't so distant as they looked from Castle Krackenburg, a bright array to rival all the heirloom diamonds on show tonight. Macarath's palace was a more traditional building, not sunk into a pit.

“How's it going, milord?” Zero approached, making himself the picture of a proper retainer to any onlookers.

“Ah, there you are. It's going pretty well, I think. I wish I could dance with you, though.”

Zero smiled, at how they'd had the same thought. “You can dance with me as much as you like, any other night.” Up close, he could appreciate even further how nice Corrin's uniform looked. It'd be fun to strip off, later on. A lone soldier, captured by a wicked, insatiable pirate... If the shadows were deeper, he might whisk his prince into them right now, for a stolen kiss. But they weren't, so he didn't.

“Haha, I guess so. I'm heading into the lounges now, and might try to get some rest after that.”

“As you wish. I'll be waiting, then.”

Honestly it was boring, watching spoiled, obnoxious people enjoying themselves, wishing someone would liven things up by slipping a nasty surprise into the wine (not Corrin's, obviously, and not his siblings either, but everyone else could drop dead). This event was too high-profile for Zero to play around and be his usual self. Instead he strolled around, kept quiet, made a few observations here and there. Garon had long made an exit by that point, and Elise had been hauled away too, despite protesting she wasn't tired yet.

He decided to wait in a plush corridor that connected a few of the lounges, smaller side rooms for intimate gatherings, to sit and chat rather than dance and put on a show. Strange that such a dour monarch had managed to throw such a well-ordered, popular party. Likely it wasn't the king himself, more a collection of clerks and administrators who knew what was needed to keep the massed nobility happy.

Zero leaned idly against a wall, toying with one of his gold earrings, wondering what time it was. He hoped Corrin wasn't doing anything silly with his new acquaintances, like playing cards for money. He'd always been terrible at games like that, far too honest to win.

“You, there.” A noblewoman hailed him, breaking his reverie, striding down the corridor as if she owned it. Her opera mask and fan were feathered and glittering, her neckline plunged magnificently low. “You serve one of the royal princes, don't you?”

“Prince Corrin, milady.” He didn't offer anything more, uncertain where this was going.

“Good. Since he's occupied right now, you can make yourself of service to me, instead. Meet me outside by the hedge maze, in ten minutes. We'll have privacy there.” She smiled avariciously, and he realised what she meant by that. Nobles were beginning to tire of the scheduled entertainments, looking for their own fun as the night drew on.

“Apologies, milady, but I should be near him in case anything happens.” It took a force of willpower, to choose those formal, inoffensive words over the ones he really wanted to say.

“Oh, don't be boring, boy,” she sighed. When he didn't reply, she added in a colder tone, “You're misunderstanding. I wasn't making a request.”

Zero felt an unpleasant stab, followed by a sense of liberation. It that's how she wanted to speak, then he didn't need to keep his polite façade up, either. Arms crossed, he gave her a blatantly scornful look, the twist of an unpleasant smile. “No, _you're_ misunderstanding. I already have someone twice as powerful as you in my bed, and they don't want to share. So drag your second-class assets out of my sight.”

The woman went rigid with anger; he wished she wasn't wearing that mask, so he could see her full expression. “You'll regret that,” she hissed, before striding off. What a vague, unoriginal threat.

Zero shook his head, and resumed waiting for Corrin.

 

* * *

 

“Eighty-six...eighty-seven...eighty-eight...”

One week a grand party, and the next it was back to normal. Alone in the training hall, Corrin counted each strike against the target, voice echoing in the wide space. The lamps would have burned out by now, if they weren't kept alight by magic. Even his instructor had left for the evening, with a final order for him to make a hundred hits, able to trust he wouldn't slack off. A hundred hits, because while he was quick and agile, he lacked the endurance for a drawn-out battle, and needed to build on that. Enemies wouldn't agree to a break if he grew tired.

He counted the last one, then let the sword fall with a sigh, leaning over and bracing his palms on his knees, catching his breath. Time for bed, finally.

The sound of approaching footsteps, soft against the sand, striding forward and then halting.

“Ah, I didn't expect to see you here at this hour, little prince.”

“Hello, Xander. Are you here for practice too?” he greeted his brother, only half surprised. Sometimes it seemed like Xander never slept, consumed day and night by all his different duties.

“Something like that. Care to spar?” The blade Xander held wasn't the legendary Siegfried, just a standard practice sword, but Corrin shook his head with a self-conscious smile.

“I think you're still a ways out of my league.”

“I'll go easy on you.”

Corrin wasn't certain that would be enough, but gamely picked up his sword and struck a ready stance. Seconds ticked by as they took the measure of each other, making small adjustments to the angles of their blades, the positions of their feet. He watched Xander's eyes, endlessly serious, early frown lines forming on his brow. Corrin found it tough being third in line to the throne; he couldn't imagine how much pressure Xander was under, brought up from birth with the title of Crown Prince. It would be enough to stop anyone from sleeping.

Xander moved first, spurring a series of rapid strikes and parries that ended with a feint. Corrin fell for it, went to dodge, and Xander's blade caught him with a tap to the arm (strictly controlled, not painful). For the second round, he tried to make use of the surroundings, backing up each time Xander struck, edging towards the training dummy. Using it as a barrier, swinging around to aim a blow at Xander's leg. It worked, but at the same time as his blade found its target, he felt an answering tap on his shoulder. A draw, then.

“Not bad. At first you were fighting too defensively. Just then, you thought about it more. Using the environment to your advantage is something you're good at, I've noticed. An opponent who didn't know you might have been caught off guard.”

This was Xander's way of brotherly bonding, Corrin understood. They carried on for a while, sparring mixed with constructive criticism and occasional praise, until at last Corrin landed a clean hit. Xander smiled, looking satisfied.

“Well done, little prince.”

“I only managed that because you left yourself open, you know.”

“I did, but you still needed to notice and act upon it. One step at a time.”

“All right. I think I'm done for tonight, though.” Much as he appreciated this, Corrin couldn't keep fighting any longer. His thoughts and limbs felt heavy, like bright molten metal thickening into dull lead. “While you're here, there is something I'd wanted to ask you...”

“Ha, isn't there always? Go on, then.”

He probably anticipated another question on Corrin's mother. Corrin didn't mean to make a habit of that - but curiosity was only natural, wasn't it? Everybody wanted to know where they came from (well, except Zero, who claimed his own parents were wastes of space, and he was glad he'd forgotten them). Two years in the castle, and Corrin had never even heard her name mentioned. It wasn't as though he planned to do anything with the knowledge, really. He'd just like to have it.

Nevertheless, tonight there was another topic on his mind. “Why aren't you married yet?”

“Excuse me?” That seemed to catch Xander off guard, more than if Corrin had poked the practice sword right into his stomach.

“At the ball, there were a lot of eligible people. And also a lot of people your age already married or engaged. But you and Camilla aren't even courting, are you?”

“That's...unexpectedly personal. You don't think that maybe we just haven't met the right matches?”

“If that's all you want to say,” Corrin replied, unchallenging but sceptical.

Xander sighed, raking a hand through his hair. He turned away from the sword-scarred practise targets, moving to sit on a bench at the side, and beckoning for Corrin to join him. “I suppose you deserve a more detailed answer than that. In bygone days, our father was... He was very different than the man you know. There was a warmth to his presence, and he found it easier to spend time with his family. He smiled more often. However, he was not always cautious in his romantic entanglements. Hence none of us being full-blooded siblings.”

“And there used to be others,” Corrin added. He already knew all of that.

“...Yes. Who mentioned them to you?”

“It's in the royal genealogy book. I tried tracing through, but it's awfully messy.” It was a large book, with gilt-edged pages and a cover inlaid with black opal and amethyst. Spanning hundreds of years, to the first ones who mixed their blood with the ancient Dusk Dragon's. Despite being messy, Corrin had liked examining it, feeling connected to all those interesting people. Part of the family. But his mother's name wasn't revealed in there, either.

“The genealogy book that's kept in a locked case in the library?”

Corrin smiled and shrugged, in what he hoped was a disarming manner. “It's not a very difficult lock.”

“Hmph. In any case, that's right. They aren't memories we like to relive, but there was a great deal of conflict caused by different women vying for Father's attention. Lives were lost, and the court was a miserable place. It's a stain on our family's recent history, and I will not risk starting that anew. I do hope to someday meet a woman worthy of becoming Nohr's queen, and I hope she will consider me worthy of her, too. But there is no hurry.”

“Thank you for the honest answer. I feel like I know you a little better now.”

“You're in no position to question others' romantic choices, you know.” Xander gave a small smile, and Corrin belatedly realised he was teasing. He was able to tease, because he _knew._ “Don't worry. It's only obvious to those of us who are close to you, and we see how devoted you are to each other.”

“W-well, um. Thank you.” Embarrassed, Corrin cast around for a change of topic. He hadn't expected to have the question of romance turned back on him so effectively (though part of him did feel relieved to have the secret out, and to have his elder brother's approval).

There was one other thing he'd wanted to discuss, and though it might darken the tone, this seemed like the sort of frank conversation where it would fit. “Xander... When you're king someday, will you do things exactly as Father does, or do you think you'll make changes?”

Xander hesitated for a few moments, before saying, “There's no straightforward answer to that, you know.”

“Sorry. Just... I know my perspective is different from yours, because of the years I missed out on. I just want to feel we're doing our best for the people who rely on us.”

“That's an admirable attitude, Corrin. Let's not get into it too deeply at this late hour, though. Shall we retire for the night?”

Well, Corrin could recognise a dismissal when he heard it. He didn't feel dissatisfied, though. His brother might not want to state it plainly – maybe he thought that was disloyal – but something in his manner signalled agreement.

Time progressed. New faces passed through the castle gates, some friendly, others best avoided (and Corrin became increasingly savvy at telling the difference). New trials set in his path, to be overcome. Battles, politics. The rest of his siblings guessed at his relationship with Zero, but only promised to keep the secret, if it made him happy. And he was happy, for the most part.

Then, on his nineteenth birthday, he was told that the King had a special task for him, and the gift of a unique and powerful sword: Ganglari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break between updates, Real Life has been happening an awful lot. Thank Fire Emblem Heroes for giving Niles an actual Halloween costume last month, and reminding me I needed to post this!


End file.
